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! 

I 











THE 


AMEKICAN 

HISTORICAL READER; 

* CONTAINING 

A BRIEF OUTLINE 


OP tIie 


HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES. 

ILLUSTRATED WITH TIVID SKETCHES OF GREAT NATIONAL EVENTS, PER- 
SONAL ADVENTURE, INSTANCES OF SUFFERING AND SELF- 
SACRIFICE, NOBLE DARING, AND MORAL HEROISM. 


FOR THE USE OF SCHOOLS AND FAMILIES 


J. L, TRACT, 

AUTHOB OP “the AMERICAN SCHOOL MANUAL.” 



J. B. LIPPINCOTT k CO. 

. 1857 . 





•» 


1 


I 


Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, by 
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., 

in the. Clerk’s Office of Ihe District Court of the United States for the Eastern District 

of Pennsylvania. 



I 


PKEF ACE. 

As a Preface is seldom read, it seems hardly worth , 
while to write one ; and yet the public have a right to 
demand some reason for thrusting upon their notice a 
new school-book. The apology for this work will he short, 
and, it is hoped, satisfactory. It is designed as an humble 
offering upon the altar of Patriotism. 

It is a melancholy fact that, in thousands of our schools, 
especially in the rural districts, the history of our own 
country is almost utterly ignored. This arises in part 
from the circumstance, that the time of attendance in these 
schools is limited, and parents are disposed to waive the 
study of history in favor of those branches which they deem 
of more practical importance. The present volume is 
designed to obviate this difficulty, by affording a know- 
ledge of our country’s history in connexion with a series 
of reading lessons. 

An experience of more than thirty years, as a practical 
teacher, has led the author to conclude, that most of our 
school histories are radically imperfect. They generally 
consist of a vast number of facts, names, dates, and events, 
so commingled together, that even the faithful student, after 
months of close application, rises from his task with a mind 
confused and bewildered by a multitude of facts and inci- 
dents, that have but a slight relationship to each other, 
and without any distinct impression of the great leading 
events about which he has studied. The author has found 

it “a more excellent way,” to give .the student, at first, a 

(iii) 


IV 


PREFACE. 


brief, but clear and perspicuous outline, — a mere skeleton 
— to be clothed with the organs of vitality, by a more ex- 
tended course of reading. By this plan, the great facts 
and features of our country’s history are readily daguer- 
reotyped upon the mind, whilst every fresh acquisition 
from the stores of history and biography, serves to 
brighten and beautify the picture. 

Many systems of mnemonics have been invented, to 
assist the mind in recollecting names, dates, and events ; 
but these have been more remarkable for their ingenuity 
than for their usefulness or practicability. The only 
rational system, and one which accords with the laws of 
mind, is, to seize upon some great era or event as a nucleus, 
and cluster around it every circumstance with which it has 
a legitimate connexion. By this means the memory is 
really aided, and every additional fact acquired, only adds 
another link to the golden chain of association. On this 
principle the present volume is compiled. Whilst the out- 
line of each period is nothing but a bare skeleton of lead- 
ing facts, it is illustrated by numerous sketches of great 
national events and personal adventure, which will serve 
to fix it forever in the mind. 

If any nation, past or present, should have the history 
of its early struggles, trials, and conquests, faithfully 
recorded upon the minds of each succeeding generation, 
that nation is ours. If the Israelites were commanded to 
teach their children the story of their oppression and 
deliverance, should not Republican America tell her chil- 
dren of the fiery trials through which she has passed to 
gain this goodly heritage ?” Especially, in these days 

of our expansion, shall we not try to check the enervating 
and disorganizing influence of luxurious ease, gilded pros- 
perity, fanaticism, and folly, so utterly opposed to the 


PREFACE. 


V 


genius of liberty, and the self-denying virtues of our 
forefathers ? In these days, when demagogues talk 
flippantly about the value of the Union, and discuss plans 
for its dissolution, would it not be well to teach the rising 
generation how much .of true patriotism, self-denial, sacri- 
fice, toil and sufiering, as well as ‘‘blood and treasure,’’ 
that Union has cost ? Our fathers went on a long pil- 
grimage for liberty, bedewing the pathway with their blood 
and paving it with their bones ; and when they had gained 
the priceless treasure, sent it down as a rich heritage to 
us, their children. Shall we lightly esteem the gift, and 
forget the trials and triumphs of those earlier days ? 

The material for the body of the work has been gathered 
from a great variety of sources, and if any of the narra- 
tives are not strictly authentic, the fault has been unin- 
tentional. With warm acknowledgments for the courtesy 
which has permitted the editor to enrich its pages with 
gems from the works of our best writers of history, and 
with the hope that its mission may be for good, he com- 
mends it to the just judgment of the people and their 
children. 

Philadelphia, November 1 , 1856 . 


1* 


i r- . 


CONTENTS. 


% 


FIRST ERA. 


The Northmen 


PAGE 

Discovery of America 


oo 

Aft 

Columbus at Barcelona 


Oo 

Discovery of the Mississippi by Marquette.... 
Virginia 


Do 

66 

AQ 

Connecticut 


oy 

71 

Huguenots in Carolina 


7ft 

New Netherlands and New York 


1 o 

Landing of the Mayflower 


I u 

77 

Capture of John Smith 


i l 

ftn 

Smith Saved by Pocahontas 

Trials of the Pilgrims 


Ov/ 

82 

fti. 

Landing of the Pilgrims 

Song of Emigration 


86 

ft7 

Pocahontas 


o i 
ftft 

Pennsylvania Treaty 


OO 

Goflfe, the Regicide... 


V i 

Q9 

Escape of Mr. Wells 



Death of King Philip 


K/tJ 

Indian Names 


VO 

Arabella Johnson 


y / 
Qft 

Song of the Pilgrims 


JO 

1 rsQ 

De Soto’s Discovery and Death , 


1 Uo 

104 


SECOND ERA. 


Rifleman of Chippewa 

Capture of James Smith !!!!!*.*.** ' 

rntnam and the Wolf. ! 

Early History of Kentucky 

Passages in the Life of Daniel Boone IV.**..*.**.**.'*.*.'*.* 

Death of General Wolfe *.*. *!!!** 

A Thrilling Incident 

Franklin’s Entrance into Philadelphia ...*..*V. ..V.'franklin.* 

Benjamin West 

Expedition against Ticonderoga .*.**.*!*..***..*.*.!.* 

Night Adventure during the Old French War .*.*.*.*. .*.*.*.*.*.* .*.*.* 

The Heroic Dog 

Morgan’s Prayer 


107 

109 

112 

114 

116 

122 

125 

126 
128 
130 
135 
145 
148 




(vii) 


CONTENTS. 


Vlll 

PAGE 

The Mother’s Trial 151 

Expedition against St. Augustine 154 

Attack on Deerfield 155 

The Georgia Colony - 157 

War between Georgia and the Spaniards 159 

THIRD ERA. 

Patriotism and Eloquence of John Adams Webster. 162 

Washington and Adams 166 

Anecdote of Washington 168 

Origin of Yankee Doodle 171 

Daniel Boone 172 

The Youth of Washington 175 

The Battle of Trenton 176 

De Kalb 178 

Peabody’s Leap 180 

Revolutionary Reminiscence 184 

The Last Shot 186 

Bunker Hill Monument Webster. 188. 

To the Survivors of the Battle of Bunker Hill “ 190 

The Fate of Andre 192 

Eloquence of Patrick Henry Wirt. 195 

Lexington Holmes. 196 

For the Fourth of July 198 

American Independence Street. 199 

Batttle of Bunker’s Hill 199 

A Romantic Incident 203 

Heroism of a Young Girl 204 

Interesting Incidents 206 

First Continental Congress Webster. 207 

Hail Columbia Hopkinson. 209 

Narrative of Baroness Reidesel 210 

A Daring Youth 218 

A Leap for Life 219 

Song of Marion’s Men Bryant. 221 

A Romantic Story 2 2 2 

Pulaski’s Banner Longfellow. 224 

Capture of Captain Harper 226 

A Desperate Encounter 229 

A High-Spirited Family 231 

Escape of Captain Plunket 233 

Attempted Abduction of General Schuyler 235 

A Novel Situation 237 

Lydia Darragh 239 

Adventures of General Putnam 241 

Adventure of Colonel Cochran 243 

Adventure of Charles Morgan 244 

Wonderful Escape from Indians 246 

A Fearful Encounter 250 

Attempt to take Arnold 252 

Crossing the Delaware.. 256 


CONTENTS. 


IX 


/ 


Capture of General Prescott 

Lafayette’s First Visit to America 
Adventures of Jacob Sammons ... 

Lieutenant Slocumb 

Lady Harriet Ackland 

Bravery of General Logan 

Singular Adventure 

Exploits of Sergeant Jasper 

Act of Mercy Rewarded 

Kenton, the Spy 

Tussle with a Wild-Cat 

A Family Attacked 

Adventures of General Clinton 

Adventures of Lieutenant Dale.... 

Miss MoncriefFe 

The Twins 

Boston Tea Party 

Capture of Colonel Clarke 

The American Flag 

The Eagle 

Character of Greene 

Female Heroism 

A Story of a Dog 

Declaration of Independence 

Columbia 

Washington and his Mother 


PAGE 

258 

262 

Stone. 265 

271. 

276 

277 

279 

281 

284 

286 

289 

290 

293 

294 

296 

298 

Bancroft. 301 

302 

Drake. 307 

Percival. 309 

Headley. 310 

314 

315 

316 

Dwight. 320 

Mrs. Sigourney. 321 


fourth era. 


Synopsis of the Constitution of the United States 324 

George Washington 327 

Maternal Heroism 329 


FIFTH ERA. 


Washington’s Farewell Address 331 

Washington....! 334 

Fate of the Indians 334 

Indian Exile 336 

Trapper Life and Language Ruxton. 337 

Scene in trapper Life “ 340 

The Recapture 345 

Death of the Trapper “ 349 

Graves of the Patriots 351 

Liberty and Union Webster. 351 

Our Country Pabadie. 353 

American History Verplanok. 354 

Ode to Jamestown Paulding. 356 

A Visit to Mount Vernon Greeley. 357 

An Appeal to the Citizens of South Carolina Jackson. 360 

Lafayette’s Last Visit to America.. Headley. 362 


X 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Welcome to General Lafayette 365 

Starved Rock, or the Last of the Illinois 365 

The Indian Hunter Eliza Cook. 368 

Escape of Colter 369 

Eulogy on Clay Cass. 372 

Fulton and the First Steamboat 374 

The Rail-Car 376. 

General Taylor... 377 

The Song of Steam Cutter. 379 

The Song of Lightning “ 380 

A Scene in Virginia 381 

General Jackson’s Victory at New Orleans. 384 

Horrors of Battle 386 

Constitution and Guerriere 389 

Old Ironsides Holmes. 392 

Female Heroism 392 

The Mothers of the West Gallgher. 395 

The Prairie on Fire Cooper. 396 

The Prairie Bryant. 401 

A Forest on Fire 402 

Stars in the Fourteenth Congress ; Wilde. 404 

The Polar Regions Kane. 407 

The Polar Night “ 408 

A Bee-Hunt Irving. 410 

Fifty Years Ago 412 

Descent of the Ohio Audubon. 414 

For the Charlestown Centennial Celebration Pierpont. 416 

Our Whole Country 417 

Fate of the Indians Story. 418 

The Captive Chief 420 

Mike Fink the Last of the Boatmen 420 

Capture of Santa Anna 426 

Pioneer Life in the West 429 

Pre-Eminence of American Institutions Bancroft. 432 

Star Spangled Banner Key. 434 

Character of French Settlers in the West Hall. 435 

Extract from a Speech of Henry Clay 437 

Stories of the Wolves -....Hall. 438 

French Hunter and Bear 440 

Adventure of Lewis Wetzel 441 

Scenes in the Prairie 445 

National Progress Editor. 452 


I 


HISTORICAL OUTLINE. 


SUGGESTION TO TEACHERS. 

The author would re.speetfully, but earnestly, recommend to 
teachers that this volume be used, not only as a reader, but for 
the purpose of communicating a living knowledge of our country’s 
history. With a view to accomplish this, he would su<r<^est the 
following plan. Eet the class thoroughly learn the outline history 
of the First Era, and frequently review the facts of that outline, 
whilst reading the sketches and narratives connected with it. 
This course, pursued throughout the volume, with reference to 
each of the succeeding Eras, will leave upon the mind of the 
student a clear and distinct impression of the most prominent facts 
in American History. By having the leading features of history 
thus stamped upon the memory, all the interesting details that 
may be learned by after reading, will locate themselves in the 

proper connection, and thns strengthen the impression already 
formed. 


(xi) 


GENERAL DIVISIONS. 


The History of the United States maybe properly divided into 
Five Eras, respectively designated as the Eras of Colonization, 
Probation, Revolution, Confederation, and Extension. 

The First Era embraces most of the seventeenth century, from 
the settlement of Jamestown, in 1607, to the accession of William 
and Mary to the throne of England, in 1689, and is characterised 
as the Era of Colonization. 

The Second Era embraces about three quarters of a century, 
from the accession of William and Mary, in 1689, to the Peace 
of Paris, in 1763, and is designated as the Era of Probation. 

The Third Era extends from the Peace of Paris, in 1763, to 
the close of the Revolutionary War, in 1783, and is called the 
Era of Revolution. 

The Fourth Era extends from the close of the Revolutionary 
War, in 1783, to the commencement of Washington's adminis- 
tration, in 1789, and is denominated the Era of Confederation. 

The Fifth Era extends from the commencement of Washing- ; 

i 

ton’s administration, to the present time, and is distinguished as i 
the Era of Extension. 

Questions for Examination. — How is the History of the United States divided ? De- 
scribe the First Era. Second. Third. Fourth. Fifth. 


(xii) 


• « , 


AMEEICAA' 


A HISTORICAL READER. 



OUTLINE OF FIRST ERA. 


COLONIZATION. — 1607-1689. 


1 . Before sketching the course of settlement in North America, 
it may be well to glance at the history of its discovery, and the 
consequent claims upon portions of its territory, by several 
nations of Europe. 


2. Spain took the lead in discovery, and in 1492, Christopher 
Columbus, who had sailed under the patronage of Ferdinand and 
Isabella, carried back to that country the glorious tidings that he 
had discovered a new Western World. His first discoveries, how- 
ever, were confined to some islands lying ofi* the south-east coast 
of North America, including several of the West India group. 

3. The first discovery of the continent of North America, was 
made by John and Sebastian Cabot, in ‘x497. They sailed under 
the auspices of Henry YIT. of England, and having first dis- 
covered the island of Newfoundland, and coast of Labrador, in 
1497, made another voyage the following year, in which they fol- 
lowed the eastern coast of North America, from Newfoundland to 
Florida. WM 

4. In 1534, James Cartier, under a commission from the Kinor 

-■-1 • . ^ 

of France, visited the island of Newfoundland, and discovered the 

Gulf of St. Lawrence. The following year, he proceeded up the 
Gulf, to the Isle of Orleans, and thence as far as Montreal. A 
temporary settlement was made at the former place, and this 
portion of the country claimed for France. 


2 


(xiii) 


XIV 


OUTIilNES OF FIRST ERA. 


5. In 1541, Ferdinand de Soto discovered the Mississippi, five or 
six hundred miles from its mouth. He landed in Florida, with 
the purpose of conquering that country, but after remaining 
nearly two years in that vicinity, proceeded to the north-west on a 
tour of exploration, and in the spring of 1541 arrived upon the 
banks of the Mississippi. Here he died, and was buried beneath 
its waves, thus making the object of his discovery a lasting monu- 
ment to his memory. 

6. You will see by this, that whilst the English claimed, from 
right of discovery, a portion of the eastern coast of North America, 
France asserted her title to the Canadas on the north, and Spain, to 
Florida and the region of the Mississippi on the south and west. 
Our present outline will be confined to the territory now occupied 
by the United States. 

7. The three oldest towns in our country, are St. Augustine, in 
Florida, founded in 1565 by the Spaniards; Jamestown, in Vir- 
ginia, founded in 1607 by the English; and Plymouth, Massa- 
chusetts, in 1620, also by the English. 

8. The first permanent settlement of Europeans, in North Ame- 
rica, was made at Jamestown, Virginia, in the spring of 1607. 
It was so called in honor of James I., King of England, who 
had divided the territory between the 34th and 45th degrees of 
north latitude, assigning the northern part to the Plymouth, and 
the southern pan to the London Company. 

9. The Colony of Jam^^town was planted under the auspices of 
the London Company. One of the most enterprising and useful 
members of the little community, was Captain John Smith. He 
was a man of great energy, and his talents were well suited to 
cope with the difficulties attending a new settlement in the wil- 
derness. 

10. During the first years of the colony, great difficulties and 
hardships were experienced, from exposure, famine, and disease, so 
that the settlement was several times upon the very point of being 
abandoned. Fresh reinforcements of men, and supplies of pro- 
vision, with an over-ruling Providence, preserved the colony from 
destruction, and, after several years of hardship, toil, and suffer- 
ing, it attained great prosperity. 


OUTLINES OP FIRST ERA. 


XV 


11. In 1622, this prosperity was checked by the Indians, who had 
concerted a plan to destroy the colony at a single blow. On the 
1st of April, this plan was so far put into execution, that three 
hundred and forty-seven of the settlers, — men, women, and chil- 
dren, — were butchered almost in the same instant. 

12. The next settlement in order of time, was made by the 
Dutch, at New York, in 1613. The whole island, then called 
Manhattan, on which now stands the largest city in America, 
was purchased from the natives for about twenty dollars. 

13. The Dutch soon extended their trade with the natives as far 
up the Hudson river as Albany, near the site of which place they 
erected a fort in 1615. This they called Fort Orange; .the set- 
tlement on Manhattan Island, New Amsterdam; and the sur- 
rounding country. New Netherlands. 

14. The Dutch held possession of their settlements about fifty 
years, until 1664, when they were surrendered to the English. 
With the exception of occasional difficulties wdth the Indians, the 
early history of this colony was prosperous. 

15. In the year 1620 was made the settlement of Plymouth, in 
Massachusetts, by a company of English emigrants called Puri- 
tans, After a long and dangerous voyage of more than two 
months, they came in sight of the bleak and dreary shores of 
Cape Cod. On the 21st of December, an exploring party landed, 
and selected a place for their settlement, which was called Ply- 
mouth. During the first winter, the colonists suffered greatly 
from cold, famine, and exposure, and afterwards, from wars with 
the Indians ; but, amidst all their sufferings and trials, they per- 
severed in laying the foundations of our present greatness. 

16. A few years after the establishment of the Plymouth colony, 
other settlements began to be made in the eastern part of Massa- 
chusetts. In the year 1628 a company of Puritans settled at 
Salem, and within two or three years, Boston, Charlestown, Cam- 
bridge, Dorchester, Watertown, and other places in that vicinity, 
were settled. 

17. The settlements around Boston enjoyed a great degree of 
quietness and prosperity after the first two or three years of their 


XVI 


OUTLINES OF FIRST ERA. 


existence, and were seldom disturbed by Indian hostilities, other- 
wise than as they were sometimes called upon to aid the more 
exposed settlements farther inland. Most of the settlers, like 
those of Plymouth, belonged to the sect known in England as 
Puritans, and were a sober, industrious, and Christian people ; 
but they sometimes committed the great error of persecuting those 
who differed from them in religious opinions, although they them- 
selves had left England to avoid the persecutions to which they 
were there exposed. 

18. The first settlements in New Hampshire were made on or 
near the Piscataqua or Salmon Falls River, in the year 1623. In 
that year one party of emigrants, from England, settled at a place 
called Little Harbor, two miles below the present city of Ports- 
mouth. Another party of emigrants settled at a place called 
Dover. 

19. In the year 1633, the Dutch, who had settled at New York, 
as will be hereafter related, erected a fort or trading house at the 
place where is now the city of Hartford. A short time after this, 
and during the same year, the people of Plymouth sent a com- 
pany to Connecticut, who sailed up the river past the Dutch fort, 
and began a settlement at Windsor 

20. In the autumn of the year 1635, about sixty men, women, 
and children, from Massachusetts, made a toilsome journey through 
the wilderness, and settled at Windsor, Hartford, and Wethers- 
field. 

21. The very year after these three towns were settled, the infant 

colony of Connecticut became involved in a war with the power- 
ful tribe of Pequod Indians. After the Indians had killed many 
of the English, the latter collected all the troops they could spare 
from the defence of their dwellings, and in the year 1637 marched j 
into the country of the Pequods, in the south-eastern part of Con- / 
necticut. The Indian fort was burned, and the whole tribe ’ 
annihilated. i 

22. In the year 1636, Roger Williams, who had been banished j 
from Massachusetts for heresy, being joined by a few faithful 
friends, went to a place called Seelfnuk, with the intention of 


I 


OUTLINES OF FIRST ERA. 


xvil 


settling there; but soon after he relinquished this design, and 
proceeded to a place at the head of Narragansett Bay, and there 
began a settlement. In acknowledgment of the mercies of 
I Heaven, he named the place Frovidence. Here now stands a 
! beautiful city, the capital of the State of Bhode Island. In the 
I year 1639, some friends of Williams settled at Newport, on the 
: Island of Rhode Island. 

23. In the colony which Williams had planted, the principles 
j of religious toleration were established by law ; and Rhode Island 

became an asylum for the persecuted of all sects. One of the 
laws of the colony declared that “ all men might walk as their 
consciences persuaded them, without molestation, every one in the 
name of his God.^^ How different from that persecuting spirit 
which then prevailed in Old England, and even in some of the 
American colonies! 

24. In 1638, a company of Swedes, conducted by a Dutch cap- 
tain, made the first permanent settlement in Delaware. They set- 
tled at a place which they called Christiana, or Christina, on a creek 
of the same name. This name was driven to their settlement in 
honor of Christiana, the little girl who was then queen of Sweden. 
The Swedes named the country in their possession New Sweden. 

25. Soon after, the Dutch began to settle near the Swedish 
colony, and finally they built a fort where New Castle now stands. 
The Swedes resented this intrusion, and seized the fort by stra- 
tagem ; but the Dutch from New Netherlands, led by Governor 
Stuyvesant himself, attacked the Swedes, in return, and conquered 
their new colony and its surrounding territory. 

' 26. From this time, until the conquest of New Netherlands by 
the English in 1664, the Dutch governed Delaware. It was after- 
w^ards subject to the English as a part of New York, until 
Pennsylvania was settled, when it was granted to William Penn, 
and was governed by him and his heirs until the American 
Revolution. 

27. New Jersey was at first included in the Dutch province of 
New Netherlands; and soon after the Dutch had settled at New 
Amsterdam, now New York City, they made a few feeble settle- 
2 * 


XVlll 


OUTLINES OP FIRST ERA. 


merits on the west side of the Hudson lliver, near the village of 
Bergen. The same year that the English fleet conquered the 
country of the Dutch, some English emigrants settled at Eliza- 
bethtown, and this place was the first capital of the province. 

28. The early colonists of New Jersey suffered but little from 
Indian wars. Their most serious difficulties arose from dissen- 
sions among themselves, and from disputes between them and 
their governors or proprietors. These disputes were finally ter- 
minated ill the year 1702, by the annexation of New Jersey to 
the government of New York. This union, however, continued 
only until 17J8, when New Jersey became a separate province, 
with governors appointed by the English sovereign. 

29. The settlement of Maryland was owing to the exertions 
of Greorge Cidvert, a Catholic nobleman of England, whose title 
was Lord Baltimore. The king promised him the grant of a tract 
of land, which, in honor of the queen, Henrietta Maria, also a 
(kitholic, was named Maryland. The design of Lord Baltimore 
in planting a colony in America, was to open there a peaceful 
asylum for his Catholic brethren, who were then persecuted in 
England. 

30. As Lord Baltimore died before the charter was completed, 
the same was made out to his son Cecil, who also took the title 
of Lord Baltimore, and readily engaged in carrying out the bene- 
volent designs of his father. He appointed his brother, Leonard 
C’alvert, governor of the intended colony, and in the latter part 
of the year 1633, sent him to America, at the head of about two 
hundred Catholic emigrants, to commence a settlement. 

31. Calvert arrived at the mouth of the Potomac lliver in 
^larch of the following year, and as soon as he landed he erected 
a cross, and took possession of the country with much ceremony, ' 
using the words, I take possession of these heathen lands for ^ 
our Saviour, and for our sovereign lord the king of England.^' ’ 

32. As the English government was indebted to the father of 

4 

William Penn, he applied for and obtained a grant of territory j 
in America, in payment of the debt. In honor of Penn’s father, 
the territory thus granted was named Pennsylvania. In the 


OUTLINES OE FIRST ERA. 


XIX 


!i year 1681, Penn sent out several ships with emigrants, mostly 

' Quakers, and he gave instructions to his agent that he should 

! govern the little colony in harmony with law and religion — that 

he should gain the good will of the natives, — and that, if a city 

should be commenced as the capital of the province, it should not 

be like the crowded towns of the old world, but should be laid 

out with gardens around each house, so as to form a green 

countrv-town.^^ 

%/ 

33. The next year, Penn himself visited his province. Soon 
after his arrival he invited the neighboring tribes of Indians to 
assemble for the purpose of making a treaty with them. At the 
appointed time the Indian chiefs at the head of their warriors, 
armed and painted in the usual manner, and adorned with beads 
and feathers, assembled beneath an aged elm, which stood within 
the suburbs of the present city of Philadelphia. 

34. Here William Penn met them, at the head of a company 
of his religious associates, all unarmed, clad in the simple Quaker 
garb, and bearing in their hands various presents for the Indians. 
Penn then addressed the chiefs in language of great kindness, 
and they replied, by assuring him that they would live in love 
with William Penn and his children as long as the sun and moon 
should endure. It has been said that this is the only treaty 
between the Christians and the Indians that was not ratified by 
an oath, and the only one that was never broken, 

35. The first English settlements in N”orth Carolina were made 
about the year 1650, by some planters fiom Virginia, who settled 
on the northern shore of Albemarle Sound. The little colony 
established there was called, in honor of the Duke of Albemarle, 
the Albemarle County Colony^ and during several years was con- 
nected with Virginia, and governed by her laws. 

36. The people of North Carolina had many difficulties among 
themselves, and they were sometimes troubled bj the Indians. 
During the years 1711, 1712, and 1713, the Tuscarora Indians 
carried on a war against them, but the savages were finally subdued, 
and driven from the country. 

37. The first settlement in South Carolina was made in 1670 


XX 


OUTLINES OF FIRST ERA. 


by a number of emigrants from England. The emigrants sailed 
into Ashley River, and on the south or west side of that stream, 
on the first high land, a little above the present city of Charleston, 
they commenced a settlement which was afterwards called Old 
Charleston. Not a vestige of that settlement now remains, 
except a ditch or moat nearly filled, which served as a defence 
against the Indians. 

38. It was soon found that the situation which the settlers had 
chosen was not favorable for a commercial town, and they began 
to look around for a more desirable location. There was a spot 
lower down, called Oyster Point, between the rivers Ashley and 
Cooper, which soon attracted attention, on account of its pleasant 
situation, and its delightful and ever-verdant groves of cypress, 
cedar, and pine, and here the settlers soon laid the foundation of 
a new town, which they called Charleston. On that spot now 
stands the city of the same name. 

39. I have thus sketched, very briefly, the history of settle- 
ment in the old thirteen States, with the exception of Georgia, 
which did not become a colony until 1733. It was settled under 
the auspices of General Oglethorpe, for the purpose of giving 
homes to the poor of Great Britain. 

40. The limits of this outline will not permit me to enter into 
a history of the separate colonies. Each had its peculiar and 
separate government, subject to the jurisdiction of Great Britain. 
For the most part, they acted with entire independence of each 
other, and were temporarily united in cases of common danger. 

41. In 1643 the four colonies of Plymouth, Massachusetts, 
Connecticut, and New Haven, formed a union by articles of Con- 
federation, and adopted the name of The United Colonies of 
New England. The object of this union was to protect them- 
selves against the Indians, and against the encroachments of the 
Hutch of jSlew Netherlands."' ' 

42. In 1675 the New England colonies suffered much from a 
war with the Indians, called King Philipps war, from a noted 
chief of that name. Many lives were lost, honid cinielties were 
perpetrated by the savages, and several towns were destroyed, but 


e 


OUTLINES OF FIRST ERA. 


XXI 


the war was finally ended by the death of Philip, and the dis- 
persion of his followers. 

43. The rebellion of Bacon, in Yirginia, which broke out about 
the same time, was caused by oppressive restrictions on commerce, 
and heavy taxes imposed by the governor. 

44. The New England colonies were severely oppressed in the 
reign of James II., under the tyrannical administration of the 
governor appointed by him. Sir Edmund Andros. The troubles 
and discontents in New York arose from the same cause. All 
these commotions tended to develope the spirit which afterwards 
aspired to national independence. The revolution in England, 
which, in 1689, placed William and Mary upon the throne, 
brought temporary relief to the colonies. 

Questions. — 2. When and by -whom was America discovered ? 3. En- 
glish discoveries ? 4. French discoveries ? 5. De Soto ? 6. Claims of 

England, France, and Spain ? 7. Three ' oldest towns in the United 

States? 8. First English settlement in North America? Named after 
whom ? What had he done ? 9. What is said of Captain John Smith ? 

10. First years of the Colony? Condition afterwards? 11. What hap- 
pened in 1622? 12. Settlement of New York? 13. What other settle- 

ment by the Dutch, and what names were given? 14. What happened in 
1664? 15. When and by whom was Plymouth settled? Its early con- 
dition? 16. Settlements in other parts of Massachusetts ? 17. Condition 

of the settlements around Boston ? What error did they commit ? 
18. First settlement of New Hampshire? 19. First settlement in Con- 
necticut? 20. Other towns ? 21. War with the Pequods? 22. Settle- 
ment of Rhode Island ? 23. Religious toleration ? 24. Settlement of 

Delaware ? 26. Subsequent history to the time ot the Revolution ? 

27. Early condition of New Jersey? First settlement? 28. After 
history? 29. What is said of Lord Baltimore? 31. First settlement of 
Marjdand? 32. What of William Penn and his father? First settle- 
ment of Pennsylvania ? 33. Penn’s visit and treaty with the Indians ? 

35. Account of the first settlement in North Carolina ? 36. Difficulties 

in that Colony ? 37. First settlement of South Carolina ? 38. To what 

point removed ? 39. When did Georgia become a Colony ? By whom 

settled? 40. Government of the different Colonies? 41. Union of New 
England Colonies? Its object? 42. When did Philip’s war begin? 
What is said of it? 43. Rebellion of Bacon, in Virginia? 44. James 

11. and Sir Edmund Andros ? AVhat brought relief? 


OUTLINE OF SECOND ERA. 


PKOB ATION. — 1C89-17G3. 

1. The present Era, extending from the accession of William 
and ^lary, in 1689, to the Peace of Paris, in 1763, is properly 
denominated the Era of Probation, for it was throughout a period 
of great trial and suffering, and the infant colonies were almost 
litenilly baptized in blood and fire/' 

2. The difficulties between England and France, led to the 
successive wars of King William, Queen Anne, George IT., and 
the old French and Indian war. All these wars brouglit the 
colonies into direct collision with their French neighbors in 
Canada, and their more ruthless neighbors, the Indians. 

3. The first, or King William's war, commenced in 1690, and 
continued to the Peace of Ryswick, in 1697. This was at first 
a war between France and England; but the French and English 
settlements took up arras, and thus the quarrel was extended to 
America. The Indians generally took part with the French of 
Canada. The war in America w*as confined mostly to New York, 
and some of the New England colonies. 

4. During this war, an English settlement at Casco Bay, in 
]\Iaine, and the town of Ilaverliill, in Massachusetts, suffered 
severely by attacks from the Indians. At the same time, the 
colony of Massachusetts suffered from domestic difficulties, growing 
out of that strange delusion, known as the Salem Witchcraft. 
During the prevalence of this horrid delusion, hundreds were 
imprisoned on a charge of witchcraft, and numbers were actually 
executed. 

5. King William's was followed, in 1702, by Queen Anne's 
war, which continued to the Treaty of Utrecht, in 1713. By 
this, France ceded Newfoundland and Nova Scotia to England. 
Like all the other Indian wars, it occasioned great suffering 
amongst the English colonists. The French from Canada, often 


OUTLINES OF SECOND ERA. 


XXlll 


accompanied the Indians in their expeditions against the English 
settlements, and seldom made any effort to restrain their cruelties. 

6. In 1744, war was again declared by England against 
France, and the colonies were plunged into hostilities with the 
French and their savage allies. This war was most disastrous to 
the colonies, involving them in losses and debt. It was closed in 
1748, by the Peace of Aix-la-Chapelle. The conflicting claims, 
however, of France and England to certain territories in America., 
soon rendered another war inevitable. This brings us to what is 
called the French and Indian war. 

7. France had possession of the Canadas and New Brunswick 
in the north ; but she claimed, in addition, all Nova Scotia, part 
of New York and Pennsylvania, and the extensive country in the 
valley of the Mississippi. The English were not willing to allow 
these claims, and, as they could not settle the matter peaceably, 
they went to war about it. 

8. The French having built several forts along the southern 
shore of Lake Erie, the English Governor of Virginia thought it 
best to remonstrate with the commanders of these posts, and 
demand a withdrawal of the troops. It being necessary to send 
some person to confer with the French Commander on the sub- 
ject, a young man by the name of George Washington was 
selected for the purpose. 

9. Washington, then only tweniy-two years of age, was a land 
surveyor, and being well acquainted with the wilderness through 
which he was to travel, and with the customs of the Indians, he 
accomplished the journey, mostly on foot, and in the depth of 
winter, with great credit to himself, and to the entire satisfaction 
of the Governor. The French, however, refused to abandon 
their forts, or give up the country. 

10. Washington, at the head of a small body of Virginia 
troops, was then sent into the disputed territory, where he defeated 
a small party of French troops, but did not succeed in capturing 
any of the forts of the enemy. This was in the year 1754. The 
next year, several regiments were sent out from England to aid 
the colonies against the French. 


XXIV 


OUTLINES OF SECOND ERA. 


11. The next expedition was against the French posts wliich 
AVjushington had visited, and was commanded by a British [ 
General, named Braddock. He had about two thousand men, a 
part from England, and the remainder Virginians. Braddock, 
though brave, and skilled in European warfare, knew nothing of 
Indian fighting, and was too proud to be advised by Americans. 

12. In this expedition, Washington acted as aid to Braddock, 
and he requested permission to lead the provincial troops in 
advance, for the purpose of guarding against an Indian surprise. 
J^raddock would not listen to him, but continued to press forward 
through the woods, heedless of danger; when suddenly, just as | 
he had crossed the Monongahela, and was only nine or ten miles 
from the French fort, an Indian force, concealed by the bushes 
and trees, poured in a deadly fire upon the advancing column. 

13. The English were soon thrown into confusion; and the 
savages, rushing in from every quarter, completed the rout. 
]5raddock, after having three horses shot under him, was mortiilly 
wounded ; and soon every mounted officer, but Washington, fell. 
He rallied the provincial troops after the regulars had fled, and 
boldly facing the Indians, drove them back, and saved the rem- 
nant of the army from total destruction. 

14. Another expedition, undertaken by the English, in 1755, 

was against a French past at Crown Point, on Lake Champlain. 
The English, commanded by General William Johnson, proceeded 
up the Hudson Kiver, between which and Lake George they were 
attacked by a large force of French and Indians. The latter, j 
however, were defeated, and their commander, Baron Dieskau, . 
mortally wounded. j 

15. 3Iany other important events occurred during this war, 
but we have not room to narrate them here. The chief, and the ; 
closing event, was the capture of Quebec, by Wolfe, in 1759. 

IG. In the latter part of June, 1759, General Wolfe landed i 
his army of about eight thousand men, on the Isle of Orleans, a . 
few miles below Quebec. The French forces, to the number of i 

I 

thirteen thousand men, occupied the city and a strong camp j 
between the rivers St. Charles and Montmoreuci. 1 

17. Wolfe conveyed his troops above the city, and on the night 


OUTLINES OF SECOND ERA. 


XXV 


of the 12th of September, landed them silently at a place since 
called Wolfe's Cove; when, after great exertions, they succeeded 
in climbing up a lofty precipice that there lines the bank of the 
i river. When morning dawned, Montcalm, the French Com- 
mander, was astonished to learn that the English army was drawn 
up in battle array on the Plains of Abraham. 

! 18. Montcalm now saw that no alternative remained but to 

' risk a battle, and accordingly he marched out all his forces to 
I meet the enemy. The battle commenced with great resolution 
1 on both sides. General Wolfe, exposing himself in the foremost 
ranks of his army, received two wounds in quick succession, and 
a third ball pierced his breast, fatally wounding him. 

19. Colonel Monckton, the second officer in rank, was danger- 
ously wounded, and the command devolved on General Townshend. 
The French General, Montcalm, likewise fell, as also did his second 
in command. Wolfe died on the field of battle, but he lived long 
enough to be informed that he had gained the victory. 

1 20. A few days after the battle, Quebec surrendered, and the 

next year all Canada submitted to the English. These events 
were followed, in 1763, by a treaty of peace, by which France sur- 
rendered to Great Britain all her possessions in North America. 

Questions. — 1. Extent of this Era? How named, and why? 
2. What wars in this Era? Effect upon the Colonies? 3. Extent of 
King William’s war? Which side did the Indians take? To what was 
the war confined in America? 4. What towns suffered? What of the 
; Salem Witchcraft? 6. Duration of Queen Anne’s war? Effect upon the 
Colonies ? 6. When did the next war commence ? Describe its effects. 

When closed? What brought on the French and Indian war? 7. What 
did France possess, and what claim ? What of the English ? 8. Where 

had the French built forts? Who was sent to the French Commander? 
9. Describe his journey. Disposition of the French ? 10. Washington’s 

expedition? Reinforcements from England? 11. What of Braddock’s 
expedition? 12. The attack of the Indians? 13. Result? 14. Another 
expedition? Its result? 15. Closing event of the war? 16. Forces of 
the English and French? 17. Enterprise of the 12th of September? 
18. Describe the battle. 19. Its result? 20. What of Quebec and 
Canada? Conditions of the treaty of Peace? 

3 


OUTLINE OF THIRD ERA. 

I L ■ 4tff 

I I fci. 


REVOLUTION. — 1763-1783. 

f 

4 

1. During most of the time that the colonies were under the| 
government of Great Britain, that power had oppressed them in| 
various ways, — by seeking to abridge their just rights and crusbf 
the spirit of liberty among them, by imposing odious and unjust f 
restrictions on their domestic and foreign trade, and finally by an; 
attempt to ^ax them for her own benefit. 

2. In the year 1765, the English government declared that all 

deeds, bonds, notes, &c., should be executed on stamped papeij 
brought from England, for which a tax should be paid to thei4 
crown : but the people destroyed the paper when it reached', 
America, and used unstamped paper as before. They also re-| 
taliated upon Great Britain, by refusing to purchase the manu-ii 
factures of that country Finally, the parent country, seeing shej; 
could get no money from the colonies in that way, repealed the!: 
stamp act. ; 

3. Great Britain next imposed a tax on the glass, paper, paints, ' 
tea, &c., which the colonies used; and soon after she began tc' 
send troops to America to enforce her unjust laws for oppressingi; 
the colonies. The Americans were not so much opposed to payingjr 
the small taxes which England demanded, as they were averse tojs 
the principle involved in submitting to them. England declaredii’ 
she had a right to tax her colonies : the latter denied this rightjli 
and were determined to resist taxation, as well as all other kinds 5 
of oppression. 

4. In the year 1773, the English merchants sent many ship-’; 
loads of tea to America, which they offered to sell very cheap, if , 
the Americans would pay to the English government the small j: 
tax on it of only three pence per pound. But notwithstanding! 
the cheapness of the price, the Americans determined to doj 
without tea entirely, rather than abandon the principles for which f 
they were contending. 



(xxvi) 


OUTLINES OF THIRD ERA. 


XX YU 


5. When the ships thus freighted reached New York and 
Philadelphia, the people would not allow the tea to be landed, 
and the ships were obliged to carry it back to England. In 
Chaileston the tea was landed, but the citizens would not allow it 
to be sold, and being stored in damp cellars, it finally perished. 

6. When the tea designed for Boston entered that harbor the 
people held a meeting to consider what should be done with it 
They wished to send it back to England, but the king’s governor 
of Massachusetts declared it should not be sent back. But the 
people as positively persisted that it should not be landed. In 
this position of the controversy, a party of men, disguised as 
Indians, went on board the ships, and, in the presence of thou- 
sands of spectators, broke open three hundred and forty-two 
chests of tea, and emptied their contents into the harbor. 

7. In this way difficulties went on increasing until 1775, when 
Great Britain sent large bodies of troops to Boston, with the 
design of awing the Americans into submission, or, if necessary 
of reducing them to obedience by force of arms. General Ga<re 
commanded these troops ; — the same man who, twenty years 
before, led the advanced column of Braddock’s army in the 
inGiRorablG battiG of tliG Monongahcla. 

8. General Gage, learning that the Americans were preparin<r 
for resistance, and collecting warlike stores in the vicinity of 
Boston, early on the morning of the 19th of April sent out a 
force of eight hundred men to destroy the stores collected at 
Concord, sixteen miles from the city. This force, on reaching 
Lexington, ten miles from Boston, and finding about seventy of 
the provincial militia assembled there, fired upon them, killing 

several of the number. This was the first blood shed in the war 
of tliG E-Gvolution. 

9. The British troops proceeded to Concord and destroyed a 
part of the stores, but the people of the surrounding country 
assembled in numbers, and, attacking them, drove them back to 

Boston, with a loss of nearly three hundred men, while the 
American loss was less than ninety. 

10. Intelligence of these events spread rapidly through the 


XXviii OUTLINES OF THIRD ERA. 

colonies. The battle of Lexington was the signal of war: the 
blood of Americans had been spilled on their own soil, and in 
defence of their own homes ; and from all parts of the country 
the people came thronging to the scene of action, determined to 
avenge the death of their countrymen, and drive their oppressors 
from the land. 

11. In a few days the British forces in Boston were surrounded 
by an army of twenty thousand men, many of them, however, 
but poorly armed. The British army, including reinforcements 
lately arrived from England, and commanded by the distinguished 
Generals Gage, Howe, Clinton, and Burgoyne, numbered between 
ten and twelve thousand men. 

12. The American Colonel Prescott was ordered, on the evening 
of the 16th of June, to tiike one thousand men and form an in- 
trenchment on Bunker's Hill, for the purpose of defending the 
narrow peninsula of Charlestown. ]5y some mistake. Colonel 
Prescott proceeded to Breed's Hill, which is still nearer Boston. 

13. Colonel Prescott's men labored diligently and silently all 

night, and by the dawn of day they had erected a square redoubt, 
capable of sheltering them from the fire of the enemy. The 
English were astonished at this daring advance of the Americana, e 
and immediately commenced a heavy fire upon them from several^ 
vessels in the harbor, and from a fortification on Cop's Hill in^ 
Boston. , j 

14. About noon, three thousand British troops crossed over toi 

Charlestown in boats, and landing at Morton's Point, marched!' 
against the American works. While they were advancing, the 
village of Charlestown was burned by the orders of General Gage; 
and by this wanton act two thousand people were deprived of 
their habitations. ^ 

15. The Americans, having been told by their officers not to 
fire until they could take certain aim, awaited in silence the 
advance of the enemy to within ten rods of the redoubt, when 
they opened upon them so deadly a fire of musketry, that whole 
ranks were cut down, and the royal troops were driven back in 
disorder and precipitation. 


XXIX 


OUTLINES OF THIRD ERA 

16. Being rallied by their officers, the British troops reluct- 
antly advanced, and were a second time beaten back by the same 
destructive and incessant stream of fire. At this critical moment. 
General Clinton came over from Boston with reinforcements. 
By his exertions the troops were again rallied and brought a third 
time to the charge, and, being aided by the fire from the British 
ships in the harbor, which raked the interior of the American 
works, they were finally successful in reaching the summit of 
the hill. 

17. By this time the ammunition of the Americans began to 
fail them, and they slowly retired from their intrenchments, 
fighting with the butt-ends of their muskets. Having retreated 
across Charlestown Neck, they hastily fortified Prospect Hill, 
while the English intrenched themselves on Bunker Hill, near 
the neck of the Peninsula. In this battle the British lost more 
than a thousand men, while the American loss was less than five 
hundred. 

18. Two days before the battle of Bunker Hill, George Wash- 
ington had been appointed by the American Congress, commander- 
in-chief of all the American forces, and in July he took the 
command of the army in the vicinity of Boston. Early in the 
following year he caused batteries to be erected on Dorchester 
Heights, and as this place completely commanded Boston, the 
British soon evacuated the city, and with all their forces sailed to 
Halifax, in Nova Scotia. 

19. Previous to this, in the autumn of 1775, the American 
Congress had sent an army to invade Canada, which country, 
then a British province, adhered to England. The result of this 
invasion was, on the whole, disastrous to the Americans. Mont- 
gomery, the American General, took several British posts, and 
even compelled Montreal to surrender, but in an attack on Quebec, 
on the last day of December, Montgomery himself was killed, and 
part of his troops taken prisoners. The Americans were finally 
obliged to evacuate Canada, without having accomplished the 
object of the invasion. 

20. On the 4th of July, 1776, the American Congress, then 
3* 


XXX 


OUTLINES OF THIRD ERA. 


in session at Pliiladelphia, made the ever-memorable Declara- 
tion OF Independence, by which the thirteen American colonies 
declared themselves Free and Independent j under the name of 
the Thirteen United States of America. 

21. After the Americans had taken the decided stand of 
declaring their independence, the British government prepared to 
carry on the war with great vigor. In the latter part of August, 
1776, a large British force, under Generals Grant, lleister, and 
Clinton, landing on Long Island, near the Narrows, commenced 
their march in three divisions towards the American camp at 
Brooklyn. 

22. The Americans who guarded the passes through the hills, 
being driven back, and surrounded in the plain near the village 
of Bedford, were nearly all killed or taken prisoners. The 
English then prepared to attack the American camp itself, but 
during a dark night, Washington silently crossed all his anny 
over to New York City. 

28. Washington was soon compelled to abandon New York 
City also, for fear of being surrounded in that position. Retreating 
along the east side of Hudson River, he established his camp at 
White Plains, in Westchester County, but was there attacked, 
and driven back with some loss. Retreating still farther, he next 
drew up his forces on the heights of North Castle, but soon 
abandoning that position, he crossed the Hudson, and took post 
in tlie vicinity of Fort Lee. 

24. There was an American post, called Fort Washington, in 
the northern part of New York Island, garrisoned by three 
thousand troops under the brave Colonel ^lagaw. This fort was 
compelled to surrender to the British, after a spirited defence, in 
which the assailants lost nearly a thousand men. 

25. Washington now commenced his retreat down the west 
side of the Hudson, and through New Jersey, closely pursued by 
overwhelming forces of the enemy. This was a time of great 
gloom to the American cause. Newark, New Brunswick, 
Princeton, and Trenton, successively fell into the hands of the 
enemy, as they were abandoned by the retreating army. On the 


j 

4 ^ 


OUTLINES OF THIRD ERA. 


XXXI 


8tli of December, Washington crossed ' the Delaware, while the 
British took post on its eastern bank, waiting only the freezing 
of the stream to enable them to cross with the greater ease and 
take possession of Philadelphia. 

26. Washington, however, not being inclined to give the 
British this advantage, silently recrossed the Delaware with a part 
of his force on the night of the 25th of December, with the 
design of surprising a body of British troops, called Hessians, 
who were posted at Trenton. His plan completely succeeded. 
One thousand Hessians were taken prisoners. 

27. The British were greatly alarmed by this sudden and suc- 
cessful movement of Washington; and a large force, commanded 
by Lord Cornwallis, immediately marched against him at Trenton, 
but Washington, silently abandoning his camp in the night, sud- 
denly fell upon and routed another body of the British posted at 
Princeton. This was on the morning of the 8d of January, 
1777. The British, instead of attacking Philadelphia, as they 
liad designed, were soon driven back to New Brunswick and 
Amboy, on the Baritan Biver, and in the latter part of June they 
passed over to Staten Island, thus abandoning New Jersey. 

28. In the latter part of July, the entire British army left 
Staten Island, and embarking on board a British fleet, sailed 
south along the coast, and, sailing up the Chesapeake Bay, landed 
at the head of Elk Ptiver, with the design of approaching Phila- 
delphia from that direction. Washington met the enemy at a 
place called Chad’s Ford, on the Brandywine Creek, but the 
Americans were defeated. In this battle the Marquis de Lafayette 
was slightly wounded. 

29. The army of Washington now retreated, first to Phila- 
delphia, and then up the left bank of the Schuylkill to Norris- 
town and Pottsgrove. At a place called Paoli, the American 
General Wayne was surprised in the night, and three hundred of 
his men were killed. 

80. On the 26th of September the British General Howe took 
possession of Philadelphia without opposition, while the main 
body of his army encamped at Germantown, six miles distant. 


xxxu 


OUTLINES OF THIRD ERA. 


On the 4th of October, Washington made an attack on this latter 

post, but was repulsed with a heavy loss. 

31. About the time that the main body of the British army 


J 


under General Howe sailed from New Jersey on the expedition 
against Philadelphia, another British army, under the command 
of General Burgoyne, commenced its march against the United 
States, by the way of Canada. This was in the month of 


June, 1777. 

32. General Schuyler abandoned Fort Edward, and Burgoyne 
took possession of that post on the 30th of July. While here, 
Burgoyne experienced his first reverses. Being in w^ant of pro- 
visions, he sent Colonel Baum, with five hundred men, to seize a 
quantity of stores which the Americans had collected at Ben- 
nington. This force, being met by Colonel Stark, at the head of 
the New Hampshire militia, was entirely defeated. Colonel 


Baum himself was mortally wounded. 

33. Soon after the battle of Bennington, Burgoyne heard of 
the defeat of another body of his troops, that had been sent, by 
way of Oswego, to attack the American Fort Schuyler, on the 
Mohawk. The British and their Indian allies, having invested 
this fortress, continued the siege twenty days, but were finally 
compelled to abandon it, with considerable loss. 

34. Notwithstanding these reverses, Burgoyne continued his 
march, and crossed to the west side of the Hudson, in pursuit 
of the American army. • By this time, however, the Americans 
had received large reinforcements, and being now commanded by 
General Gates, they faced about, and met the enemy in the 
northern part of the town of Stillwater, where two severe battles 
were fought, the first on the 19th of September, and the second 
on the 7th of October. 

35. The British were now compelled to retreat, and they fell 
back to the mouth of Fish Creek, in the town of Saratoga, where 
they were completely surrounded by the Americans, with no 
chance of escape in any direction. In this situation, on the 17th 
of October, Burgoyne was reduced to the humiliating necessity 
of surrendering his whole army prisoners of war. 


OUTLINES or THIRD ERA. 


XXXlll 


36. We now return to the movements of the two armies in the 
vicinity of Philadelphia. A short distance below that city, the 
Americans had fortified Forts Mifflin and Mercer. On the 22d 

I of October, both these places were attacked by the enemy. 

37. The attack on Fort Mercer, then garrisoned by less than 
five hundred men, was made by nearly two thousand Hessian 
grenadiers, who, after forcing an extensive outwork, were finally 
compelled to retire, with a loss of nearly four hundred of their 
number. The Hessian G-eneral, Count Donop, was mortally 
wounded, and fell into the hands of the Americans. The attack 
on Fort Mifflin was alike unsuccessful, but in a few days both 
these places were abandoned to the enemy. 

38. Soon after these events, the troops of Washington went 
into winter-quarters at Valley Forge, on the Schuylkill, twenty 
miles north-west from Philadelphia, where they passed a rigorous 
winter, suffering extreme distress from the want of suitable 
supplies of food and clothing. At the same time the British 
troops were enjoying, in Philadelphia, all the conveniences and 
luxuries which an opulent city afforded. 

39. Early in the following year, 1778, the joyful intelligence 
was received that Dr. Franklin, and the other American commis- 
sioners at Paris, had concluded a treaty of alliance with France, 
by which that power acknowledged the independence of the 
United States, and took part in the war against England. 

40. Early in the year the French government sent out a fleet 
under the command of the Count D’Estaing, to aid the x\meri- 
cans; when the British army at Philadelphia, fearful of being 
shut up there by the combined forces of France and the United 
States, commenced a retreat through New Jersey, towards the 
city of New York. 

41. Washington followed with his army, and at a place called 
Monmouth Court-House, he attacked the enemy and gained some 
advantage over them. The day was exceedingly hot, and many 
died on both sides, from the heat and fatigue. In this battle the 
British Colonel Monckton was killed, the same man who, nineteen 
years before, was wounded by the side of General Wolfe, at the 
siege of Quebec. 


XXxiv OUTLINES OF THIRD ERA. 

42. After tlie battle of Monmouth, the British proceeded to 
New York. During the remainder of the season, the war was 
carried on mostly by small parties of the opposing forces, in 
different parts of the country, but no great battle was fought. 
Late in the season, however, a British force was sent against 
Savannah, the capital of Georgia, and that city fell into the hands 
of the enemy. 

43. During the year 1779, the war was carried on in three 
separate quarters : between portions of the British and the 
American forces in the Northern States, and others in the Southern 
States; and also between the fleets of France and England in the 


West Indies. 

44. At the North, the forces of the enemy were mostly 
employed in ravaging the coast, and plundering the country. 
The Americans, however, led by General Wayne, made a des- 
perate assault on the fortress of Stony Point, on the Hudson, 
which they recaptured from the enemy. 

45. At the South, the enemy overran Georgia and a part of 
South Carolina. In October, the Americans, aided by the 
French, under Count D’Estaing, attempted to retake Savannah, 
but w’ere unsuccessful. In the attack on this place, Count 
Pulaski, a celebrated Polish nobleman and patriot, who had 
espoused the cause of the Americans, was mortiilly wounded. 

46. During the year 1780, the scene of military operations was 
confined mostly to South Carolina. Early in the spring, a large 
British force, commanded by General Clinton, landed on the coast 
south-west from Charleston, and crossing Ashley Biver, began the 
siege of the city, by erecting batteries a short distance above it. 
Soon after. Admiral Arbutlmot sailed past Fort Moultrie, and 
anchored his fleet in Charleston harbor, within cannon-shot of the 
city. On the 12th of May, Charleston surrendered to the enemy. 

47. After the fall of Charleston, General Clinton made the 
most active preparations for recovering the whole of South 
Carolina, and by the first of June, every American post in the 
province had submitted. Clinton, apprehending little farther 
opposition from the Americans in that quarter, now left the 


5 


I 

1 


OUTLINES OF THIRD ERA. 


XXXV 


province, and sailed for New York, intrusting to Lord Cornwallis 
! the command of the southern British army. 

48. Cornwallis, however, soon found that if he wished to 
retain possession of the country, he must fight for it. His troops, 
scattered throughout the province in small parties, were frequently 

I attacked, and sometimes defeated" by bands of patriots under 
daring leaders, and in the summer a strong force from the North, 
commanded by General Gates, the hero of Saratoga, approached 
for the relief of the southern provinces. 

49. On the 16th of August, General Gates met the enemy at 
a place called Sanders^ Creek, east of the Wateree River, and 
between Clermont and Camden, but here the Americans were 
defeated. 

50. After this battle General Gates retreated into North 
Carolina, and a second time the British troops overran the whole 
province ; but in October, their progress was arrested by an un- 
expected disaster. Cornwallis had sent Colonel Ferguson to the 
western frontiers of North Carolina, for the purpose of encouraging 
the loyalists in that quarter to take up arms. 

51. Ferguson and his band having committed great excesses, 
the people hastily took up arms against him, and attacking him at 
a place called King^s Mountain, killed Ferguson himself, and many 
of his men, and took eight hundred prisoners. The ruin of 
Ferguson^s detachment, completely disconcerted the plans of 
Cornwallis. 

52. Few events of much importance occurred at the North 
during the year 1780, although the British continued their plun- 
dering expeditions against defenceless portions of the countiy. 
One event of some interest, however, although of little import- 
ance in its results, should not be passed over here. We allude to 
the treason of Arnold. 

53. This man, a general in the American army, having obtained 
3ommand of the fortress of West Point, on the Hudson, privately 
engaged to deliver it up to the British General Clinton, for the 
mm of ten thousand pounds sterling, and a commission as brigadier- 

I general in the British army. 


I- 

i 


XXXVl 


OUTLINES OF T II I 11 D ERA. 


54. By the fortunate arrest of Major Andre, whom Clinton 
had sent to confer with Arnold, the project was defeated. Andre . 
was hung as a spy, while Arnold fled to the British camp, where 
he received the stipulated reward of his treason. But even the 
British themselves scorned the traitor, and the world now execrates 
his name and memory. 

55. Soon after the unfortunate battle of Sanders’ Creek, nearj 
Camden, Congress appointed General Greene to the command of j 
the southern army, in the place of General Gates. On taking 
the command, he sent General 3Iorgan, with about two thousand 
men, to the western extremity of South Carolina, in order to 
hold in check the British forces in that quarter. Lord Cornwallis 
sent Colonel Tarleton against him, with directions to push him j 
to the utmost.^^ Tarleton was defeated, however, at a place calledjj 
the Cowpens, with the loss of nearly his whole detachment. 

56. After this, on the 15th of March, General Greene was | 
attacked by Cornwallis, at a place called Guilford Court-House, 
and after an obstinate battle was obliged to retreat j but the British 
had suffered so severely that they were unable to pursue him. 

57. General Greene fought two other battles with the enemy, 
one on the 25th of April, at a place called Ilobkirk’s Hill, and ' 
another in September, at Eutaw Springs. In neither was he 
entirely successful, but so greatly did the British suffer, that they . 
retreated to Charleston and Savannah ; and at the close of the 
year, these were the only southern posts in their possession. 

58. We now return to the movements of Cornwallis, who, late 

f 

in April, marched into Virginia. About the middle of August 
he took post at Yorktown, on the south side of York Biver, and 
near its entrance into Chesapeake Bay. This place he strongly 
fortified, and also Gloucester Point, which was held by a detach-ll 
ment under Colonel Tarleton. 

59. Washington now determined to strike a decisive blow 
against Cornwallis; and suddenly drawing oflf the combined French 
and American army from the vicinity of New York, near the last 
of September he laid siege to Yorktown. On the 19th of October, 
Cornwallis surrendered his whole army prisoners of war, com- 
prising more than seven thousand men. 

60. The fall of Cornwallis nearly closed the war in America, 


\ 


OUTLINES OF THIRD ERA. XXXvii 

althougli it continued later on the ocean, and in Europe ; for not 
only France, but Spain and Holland also, had by this time united 
with America in the war against England. 

61. On the 30th of September, 1782, preliminary articles of 
peace were signed at Paris, by the British and American Com- 
missioners. The names of the latter were Benjamin Franklin, 
John Jay, and Henry Laurens. In September, 1783, a final 
treaty was concluded, by which Great Britain acknowledged the 
independence of the United States, allowing to them ample bound- 
aries, extending north to the great lakes, and west to the Mississippi. 

Questions. — 1. How had Great Britain oppressed the Colonies? 

2. What was done in 1765 ? What course was pursued by the Colonists ? 

3. Next tax? What principle in dispute? 4. English merchants and 

tea ? 5. Tea sent to New York, Philadelphia and Charleston ? 6. Boston 

tea? 7. What was done in 1775? 8. What was done by General Gage 

on the 19th of April? 9. Result of the expedition? 10. Effect upon 
the Americans? 11. Number and situation of the armies? 12. Evening 
of the 16th of June? 13. What was done by the British, next morning? 
14. Describe the battle. 17. Its final result. 18. What of George 
Washington? What was done early the next year? 19. Account of 
the expedition against Canada ? 20. Declaration of Independence. 

21. Course of the British government? 22. Attack on the American 
camp? 23. Washington’s course ? 24. Fort Washington? 25. Retreat 

through New Jersey ? 26. Battle of Trenton ? 27. Battle of Princeton ? 

Course of the British? 28. What was done by the British in July? 
Battle of Brandywine? 29. Washington’s course? General Wayne? 
30. Battle of Germantown? 31. General Burgoyne? 32. General 
Stark at Bennington ? 33. Fort Schuyler ? 34. Operations of the two 

armies? 35. Final result? 36-37. Forts Mifflin and Mercer? Result 
of the attacks ? 38. Encampment at Valley Forge ? 39. Treaty of 

alliance? 40. Course of the British army ? 41. Battle of Monmouth? 

42. Describe remaining events of the season. 43. The war in 1779? 
44. General Wayne and Stony Point? 45. State of the war in the 
South? 46. Siege of Charleston? 47. What did Clinton do after the 
capture of Charleston? 48. Fortunes of Cornwallis? 49. Battle of 
Camden? 50. Course of Gates and the British? 51. Battle of King’s 
Mountain? 52-53. Treason of Arnold? 54. How were his plans 
defeated ? 55. General Greene ? Morgan and Tarleton ? 56. Battle of 

Guilford Court-House? 57. Hobkirk’s Hill and Eutaw Springs? 
58. Movements of Cornwallis? 59. Plans of Washington? Result? 
60. Effect of Cornwallis’ surrender? 61. Treaty of Peace? 

4 


OUTLINE OF FOURTH ERA. 


CONFEDERATION. •— 1783-1789. 

1. On the 19th of April, 1783, just eight years after the hattle^^ 
of Lexington, peace was proclaimed. The war was at an end, 
but the miseries and evils which follow in its train, were far from 
being ended. The next few years are among the darkest in 
American history. The country was exhausted : agriculture, 
commerce, and the fisheries, had been neglected ; a debt of forty 
millions of dollars had been contracted, and Congress had no 
money to pay it. The troops, when they received any pay at all, 
had received it in paper-money issued by Congress. This money 
had grown less and less in value, until it was hardly worth a 
hundredth part of its original amount. 

2. Washington deeply deplored the evils gathering round his 
country, and it is to his wise counsels and unwearied efforts, that, 
under God, we owe our deliverance from them. By the War 
of Independence, debts had been incurred to the army, to foreign 
governments, and to individuals, who had loaned large sums. 
Congress had no means of paying these debts, unless the separate 
thirteen States would raise the money. This they were backward 
in doing, partly from inability, but more because they were jealous 
of Congress, and unwilling to place too much power in its hands. 

3. A meeting to take into consideration the condition of trade, 
had been appointed at Annapolis for September, 1786. When 
assembled, it was found that little could be done without the co- 
operation of more States, and also, that it would be necessary to 
alter the Articles of Confederation.^' These were the only 
bond of union between the States : they had been framed in 1777, 
and had answered the purpose during the war, but were found 
inadequate to the present state of affairs. It was therefore pro- 
posed to hold a Convention the following May, at Philadelphia, 
to form a more complete union of the States. A resolution to 
this effect was adopted by Congress. 


(xxxviii) 


OUTLINES OF FOURTH ERA. 


XXXIX 


4. In the old State-House in Philadelphia, the same which had 
witnessed the signing of the Declaration of Independence, repre- 
sentatives from every State, excepting Rhode Island, met on the 
23d of May, 1787, to revise the Articles of Confederation.^^ 
Washington was there as its President, and Franklin, who had so 
warmly advocated union in the old colonial times, at the Albany 
Convention, of 1754. Many and wise were the counsellors, but 
a difficult task lay before them. 

5. Soon, the old Articles of Confederation^^ were cast aside, 
and the draft of a new Constitution was written. Long, ably, and 
warmly, was every article discussed. There were two parties in 
the Convention and throughout the land. The one sought to 
increase the powers of the general government, and to place in its 
hands an authority designed to strengthen the union abroad and 
at home. These were the Federalists and friends of the new 
Constitution. The other party were jealous of too much power 
being given to the general government ; they feared a monarchy, 
and desired that the governing power should rest with the indi- 
vidual States. These were the Anti-federalists, and for the most 
part, urgent in modifying the proposed Constitution. 

6. At length, on the 17th of September, 1787, the represen- 
tatives in the Convention having signed the Constitution, it went 
forth to obtain the sanction of the individual States. Here, again, 
its fate became very doubtful. It was not until the year 1790, 
that the last State of the old Thirteen, Rhode Island, gave in her 
consent to the Constitution. Eleven of the States, however, 
ratified it within a year, and the consent of nine was sufficient 
for its adoption. The day fixed for it to take effect, was the 4th 
of March, 1789. 

7. Of course, in the choice of a Chief Magistrate, provided by 
the Constitution, all hearts turned towards Washington, and by 
the unanimous voice of the people, he became their first President. 
John Adams was chosen Vice-President. 


Questions. — 1. Condition of the country at the close of the war? 
2. Debts of the country ? Congress ? 3. Meeting at Annapolis ? 4. Con- 
vention at Philadelphia ? 5. Account of the parties in that Convention ? 

6. Result of its action? 7. First President? 


J 


OUTLINE OF FIFTH ERA. 


A 


I 


EXTENSION. — 1789-1856. 

1. During the early part of Washington’s admmietration, the 
attention of Congress was occupied principally in organizing the 
various departments of government. In 1/90, an Indian war 
broke out on the north-western frontier, north of the Ohio River. 
General Harmar, who was sent against the Indians, after having 
ravaged much of their country, was himself defeated ]>y them. 
The next year, General St. Clair was sent into the Indian country,- 
but being surprised in camp, he also was defeated. 

2. During the same year, 1791, Vermont became a State, and 
was admitted into the Union, — thus making the fourteenth State 
of the Confederacy. The first settlement in Vermont was made 
at Fort Dummer, now Brattleboro’. A fort was erected there in 
1723, and a settlement commenced in the following year. 

3. In 1792 Kentucky became a State, — the first that was 
formed west of the Alleghanies. The first settlement in Ken- | 
tucky was made by Daniel Boone and others in the year 1775, 2 
about the time of the commencement of the war of the Revo- j 
lution. The early settlers sufiered severely from Indian deprc- I 
dations. 

4. After the defeat of St. Clair in 1791, General Wayne was| 
appointed to carry on the war at the west. In 1793 he built aj 
fort which he named Fort Recovery, near the spot on which St.l 
Clair had been defeated. In the following year he fought a great 
battle with the Indians near the rapids of the Maumee, com- J 
pletely routed them, and laid waste their country. The next ^ 
year the Indians consented to a treaty, and peace was established j 
with them. 

5. John Adams, who had been Vice-President of the United 
States during Washington’s administration, succeeded to the 
office of President on the 4th of March, 1797. He had been an i 



OUTLINES OF FIFTH ERA. 


xH 


ardeDt supporter of the rights of the colonies against the aggres- 
sions of England, and it was at his suggestion that Washington 
was nominated commander-in-chief of the American armies. 

6. During this administration, in December, 1799, occurred 
the death of Washington. On this, occasion the members of 
Congress put on mourning; the people of the United States wore 
crape on the left arm for thirty days ; and in every part of the 
republic, funeral orations were delivered to commemorate the 
virtues of the Father of his Country F 

7. In the year 1790, a tract of country ten miles square, on 
both sides of the Potomac River, had been ceded to the United 
States by Virginia and Maryland, for the purpose of becoming 
the seat of government of the Union. Within this district a citv 
was laid out, which was named Washington^ and to this place the 
seat of government was removed from Philadelphia, in the year 1800. 

8. Thomas Jefferson, who had been Secretary of State under 
Washington, and Vice-President during the administration of Mr. 
Adams, succeeded the latter in the office of President on the 4th 
of March, 1801. It was Jefferson who wrote the celebrated 
Declaration of Independence. To him we are indebted for the 
present convenient denominations of Federal money, such as 
cents, dimes, dollars, &c., in place of the old English system of 
pounds, shillings, and pence. 

9. In the year 1802, Ohio, which had previously formed part 
of the ^^North-Western Territory, became a State. The first 
settlement in Ohio was commenced at Marietta, on the 7th of 
April, 1788, by a company of forty-seven individuals. Marietta 
received its name in honor of Marie Antoinettej the beautiful and 
unfortunate Queen of France. 

10. Previous to the year 1803, the territory of the United 
States extended west only to the Mississipi River, — all the region 
beyond, then called Louisiana^ being owned by Spain. This 
latter power, however, ceded the country to France in the year 
1800, and in the year 1803 the United States purchased it from 
France, for fifteen millions of dollars. Thus the territory of the 
United States was extended west to the Rocky Mountains. 

4 * 


xlii 


OUTLINES OF FIFTH ERA. 


11. During several years of Mr. Jefferson^s administration, a 
war was carried on by the United States against Tripoli, one of 
the piratical Barbary powers in the north of Africa. At the 
same time, difficulties between England and the United States, 
that had commenced soon after the close of the Bevolution, con- 
tinued to increase, with but little prospect of a friendly settle- 
ment, and during the next administration, as will be seen, they 
involved the two countries in another war. 

12. On the 4th of March, 1809, Mr. Jefferson was succeeded 
in the office of President by James Madison. In the year 1811, 
that portion of Louisiana, which had been called the Territory 
of Orleans,^ ^ since its purchase by the United States, adopted a 
State Constitution, and in the following year was admitted into 
the Union as a State, bearing the name of Louisiana. 

- 13. At the time of the accession of Mr. Madison to the 
Presidency, the difficulties with England were the all-absorbing 
topic in the Congress of the United States, and among the people. 
During many years, England, while engaged in a war with France, 
had been in the habit of plundering our commerce on the ocean, 
under the pretence that we were aiding her enemy. 

14. She had also forcibly taken seamen from our vessels, and 
compelled them to serve in her navy, under the pretence that they 
were natives of England, and were therefore still British subjects. 
But under this avowed right, not only natives of England, but 
American-born citizens also, w^ere taken away, and condemned to 
a lot little better than that of slavery. 

15. After many years of suffering and remonstrance, the 
United States finally declared war against Great Britain, in the 
month of June, 1812. The declaration of war, however, although 
sustained by a large majority of the people of the Union, was not 
unanimous, for many of the citizens of the New England States, 
and especially such as belonged to what was called the Federal 
party, opposed the war, believing it to be unnecessary. 

16. During the year 1811, the western Indians, incited, as 
was supposed, by British agents, had become hostile; and General 
Harrison, at the head of a large force, had been sent against 


OUTLINES OF FIFTH ERA. 


xliii 


them. The Indians, led by the celebrated chief Tecumseh, while 
pretending that they were ready to make peace with him, treach- 
erously attacked him early on the morning of the 7th of Novem- 
ber, but they were finally repulsed, after having a large number 
of their warriors slain. This is what is called the Battle of 
Tq^pecanoe. 

17. In the year 1812, soon after the declaration of war. General 
Hull, who had the command of the western frontier, crossed the 
Detroit Diver, and marched into Canada; but as the British and 
Indians began to concentrate around him, he marched back to 
Detroit, on the American side. 

18. Here, on the 16th of August, he basely surrendered to 
the British General Brock his whole army, together with Detroit, 
and all other posts in Michigan Territory. For his conduct in 
this affair. General PIull was afterwards tried by a court-martial, 
and being convicted of cowardice, was sentenced to death ; but 
he was pardoned by the President, although his name was ordered 
to be struck from the rolls of the army. 

19. During the summer of 1812, an American force had 
assembled on the Niagara frontier, and in October, a detachment 
crossed the river and attacked the British on Queenstown Heights. 
Here the British General Brock was killed, but the Americans 
were finally defeated, and many of them taken prisoners. On 
the ocean the Americans gained several important victories during 
the year 1812, but thus far, on the land, the events of the war 
had generally been unfavorable to them. 

20. After the surrender of General Hull, the command of the 
western frontier had been given to General Harrison, who, early 
in the year 1813, began to assemble his forces near the head of 
Lake Erie, for the recovery of Detroit, and an invasion of Canada. . 
While General Winchester was marching to unite his forces with 
those of Harrison, he was attacked at Frenchtown, by the British 
and Indians under General Proctor, and he himself and nearly 
his entire force were taken prisoners. 

21. During the summer, the American forces had various 
encounters with the British and Indians, in most of which the 


xliv OUTLINES OF FIFTH ERA. 

latter were defeated. In September a naval battle was fought on 
Lake Erie, in which the American squadron, commanded by 
Commodore Perry, captured every vessel of the enemy. Intel- 
li 2 :ence of this victory was conveyed to Harrison in the following 
laconic epistle : We have met the enemy, and they are ours. 

22. Soon after this, Harrison pursued the British and Indians 
into Canada, and having overtaken them about eighty miles from 
Detroit, he there attacked them, and destroyed nearly their whole 
force. Tecumseh himself, the master-spirit of the great Indian 
confederacy, was found among the slain. 

23. At the north, a body of troops from SacketCs Harbor 
crossed Lake Ontario late in April, and captured York, nOw 
Toronto, the capital of Upper Canada. General Pike, who led 
the troops to the assault, was killed by the explosion of the 
enemy’s magazine. About a month later the enemy made an 
attack on’Sackett’s Harbor, but before they had done much 
damage, they were repulsed by the American militia under 
Colonel Brown. 

24. During the year 1813, the ocean was the scene of many 
sanguinary conflicts between separate armed vessels of England 
and the United States, the results of which were various, but 
neither at sea nor on land was the American flag dishonored by 
cowardice, or cruelty to the vanquished. On the other hand, the 
British character was often sullied by scenes of rapine, and gross 
outrage upon unprotected citizens. 

25. Early in July, 1814, about three thousand Americans, 
commanded by Generals Scott, Eipley, and Brown, crossed the 
Niagara Biver near Buffalo, and took possession of Fort Erie 
without opposition. Thence proceeding north along the river as 
far as Chippewa, they were there met by the enemy on the 5th 
of the month, but after a severe battle the latter were driven from 
the fleld. 

26. On the evening of the 25th of the same month the opposing 
forces again met, near the Falls of Niagara, at a place denoted 
as Lundy’s Lane, and here was fought the most obstinate battle 
that occurred during the war. The enemy were finally compelled 


OUTLINES OF FIFTH ERA. xlv 

to withdraw, but the losses on both sides were nearly equal. The 
killed and wounded on each side were more than eight hundred. 

27. Early in September, fourteen thousand of the enemy, com- 
manded by General Prevost, advanced from Canada, against 
Plattsburg, on the western shore of Lake Champlain. On fne 
11th of the month, they attacked the American force there, but 
were defeated with a loss of more than two thousand men. At 
the same time the British fleet on the lake attacked the American 
flotilla lying in the harbor, but here also the enemy were defeated, 
and most of their vessels captured. 

28. During this season the enemy also invaded the States by 
the way of the Atlantic coast. In August they succeeded in 
reaching Washington, where they burned the Capitol, President's 
house, and many other buildings. They next proceeded up the 
Chesapeake, and landing at North Point, marched against Balti- 
more ; but they were met and repulsed — their commander. General 
Boss, being killed. 

29. The war was carried on at the south also during this season. 
Florida was at this time in the possession of Spain, and the 
Spanish authorities there, being favorable to Great Britain, 
allowed British vessels to be fitted out in the harbor of Pensacola, 
for expeditions against the United States. General Jackson^ 
then commanding at the south, marched against Pensacola, 
stormed the place, and compelled the British to evacuate Florida. 

30. General Jackson then proceeded to the City of New 
Orleans, which he found in a state of confusion and alarm, as 
information had been received there that a large British force 
was preparing for an attack on that place. By his exertions, 
however, order and confidence w^ere restored, the militia were 
organized, and fortifications were erected four or five miles below 
the city. 

31. On the 28th of December, and also on the 1st of January, 
1815, these fortifications were cannonaded by the enemy. On 
the morning of the 8th of January, General Packenham, the 
commander-in-chief of the British forces, advanced against the 
American works with the main body of his army, numbering more 
than twelve thousand men. 


xlvi 


OUTLINES OF FIFTH ERA. 


82. There were only six thousand Americans to contend 
against this army, but they were posted behind bales of cotton 
which no balls could penetrate, and moreover, they were the best 
marksmen in the land, and terrible was the slaughter which they 
made among the enemy, as the latter came within reach of their 
rifles. After a short, but desperate struggle, the enemy fled, 
leaving seven hundred dead, and more than a thousand wounded, 
on the fleld of battle. The loss of the Americans was only seven 
killed and six wounded. 

83. This was the last important battle that occurred during the 
war. Even before it was fought, a treaty of peace had been con- 
cluded between Great Britain and the United States, although 
intelligence of it had not yet reached America. The tidings of 
peace were received with, great joy by the people, for they were 
anxious to be relieved from the numerous evils which war always 
occasions. 

34. During the last year of the war with England, Algiers, 
one of the Barbary powers, thinking the opportunity a favorable 
one, commenced a piratical warfare against all American vessels 
that fell in the way of her cruisers. In 1815, however, an 
American s(j[uadron, commanded by Commodore Decatur, pro- 
ceeded to the Mediterranean, and soon compelled the Dey, or 
governor of Algiers, to assent to such a treaty of peace as was 
dictated to him. In 1816, the last year of Madison^s adminis- 
tration, Indiana became a State, and was admitted into the 
Union. 

35. On the 4th of March, 1817, James Monroe succeeded 
Mr. Madison in the ofiice of President of the United States. The 
same year Mississippi became a State, and was admitted into the 
Union. The first settlement in the State was made at Natchez, 
by the French, in the year 1716. In the year 1818, Illinois,' 

which had previously been called Illinois Territory, became a 
State. 

36. In the latter part of the year 1817, the Seminole Indians 
of Florida, aided by a few of the Creeks, commenced depredations 
on the frontiers of Georgia and Alabama. General Jackson was 


OUTLINES OF FIFTH ERA. xlvii 

vSent into the Indian territory, which he overran without oppo- 
sition. He also entered the Spanish territory of Florida, and 
seized several Spanish towns. His conduct in this war was cen- 
sured by many, but it met the approbation of the President, and 
of a majority in Congress. 

37. In the year 1819, the United States purchased of Spain 
the territory of Florida. During the same year Alabama 
became a State. In the year following the province of Maine, 
which had been connected with Massachusetts since the y'/ar 
1652, became a State, making the twenty-third in number thai 
then composed the Union. 

38. Missouri had previously applied for admission; but a 
proposition in Congress to prohibit the introduction of slavery 
into the new State was violently opposed by the Southern States, 
and as warmly urged by the Northern section of the Union. The 
Missouri question was finally settled by a compromise, which 
tolerated slavery in Missouri, but otherwise prohibited it in all 
territory of the United States north of thirty-six and a half 
degrees of north latitude, which is the southern boundary of 
Missouri. Missouri was then admitted into the Union as a State, 
in the year 1821. 

39. On the 4th of March, 1825, John Quincy_ Adams, son of 
the elder President Adams, succeeded Mr. Monroe in the office 
of President of the United States. Few events of great national 
importance occurred during the four years of this administration. 

40. We should not fail to notice, however, the deaths of the 
two venerable ex-presidents, John Adams and Thomas Jefferson, 
who died on the same day, the 4th of July, 1826, just fifty years 
after both had signed the ever-memorable Declaration of Inde- 
pendence. Jefferson wrote that document, and Adams was the 
great pillar of its support on the floor of Congress. The minds 
of both, in their last moments, seemed to be wandering back to 
the scenes in the Revolution. 

41. On the 4th of March, 1829, Mr. Adams was succeeded 
by General Andrew Jackson in the office of President of the 
United States. During this administration, many exciting sub- 


I 


xlviii OUTLINES OF FIFTH ERA. 

jects of political controversy agitated the Union, and party spirit 
rose to a degree of violence never before witnessed. The prin- 
cipal subjects of controversy were those relating to the United 
States Bank, and the Tariff. 

42. In 1835, the Seminole Indians of Florida, complaining 
that fraud had been practised, to induce them to sell their lands, 
and remove west of the Mississippi, refused to move at the time 
agreed upon, and commenced hostilities against the settlements in'* 
their vicinity. Micanopy was the king of the Seminoles, but 
Osceola was their most noted chief, and their principal leader in 
the war. 

43. This war continued six years, and although the Indians 
were finally driven from their retreats, and forced to remove west 
of the Mississippi, yet the troops of the United States engaged 
in it suffered severely, principally from sickness, for the unhealthy 
climate was a foe which neither bravery nor numbers could 
subdue. 

44. During the years 1836 and 1837, two new States, 
Arkansas and Michigan, were added to the Confederacy. The 
first settlement in Michigan, was made by the French at Detroit. 
About the year 1640, they established a trading post there, but it 
was not until the year 1701 that they began the permanent settle- 
ment of the place. This country first came into the possession 
of the English after the peace of 1763, which closed the French 
and Indian war. Arkansas, which was early settled by the 
French, came into the possession of the United States after the 
purchase of Louisiana, in 1803. 

45. On the 4th of March, 1837, General Jackson was suc- 
ceeded by Martin Van Buren in the ofl&ce of President of the 
United States. Soon after the accession of Mr. Van Buren, a 
great revulsion was experienced in the business transactions of 
the country. The wages of labor were reduced ; thousands of 
men, previously supposed to be wealthy, failed in business ; the 
banks ceased to redeem their notes in specie, and a general 
distress in pecuniary affairs pervaded the whole community. 

46. The Seminole war continued during Van Buren's admin- 


OUTLINES OF FIFTH ERA. xlix 

istratiou, and several treaties, made by the Indians, were broken 
by them. It was thought that the influence of Osceola over the 
Indians was the principal cause of prolonging the war, and when 
that chief came to the American camp, under the protection of a 
flag of truce, he was treacherously seized and placed in confine- 
ment, where he soon after died. But the Indians resented the 
treachery, .and continued the war. 

47. On the 4th of March, 1841, Mr. Yan Buren was succeeded 
by William Henry Harrison, in the ofiice of President of the 
United States. But scarcely had General Harrison commenced 
his administration, befoi^ rumors of his sudden illness spread 
through the land; and scarcely had those rumors reached the 
limits of the Union, when they were followed by the sad intel- 
ligence of his death. Just one month from the day of his 
inauguration, the aged President was a pallid corpse in the 
national mansion. 

48. On the death of General Harrison, John Tyler, the Vice- 
President, became the acting President of the United States. In 
the following year, 1842, an important treaty was negotiated with 
Great Britain, by which the boundary between Maine and New 
Brunswick was settled, to the satisfaction of all parties interested. 
It had long been feared by many that this ^^North-eastern 
Boundary Question would involve the two nations in war. 

49. During the latter part of Mr. TylePs administration, the 
subject of the annexation of Texas to the American Union caused 
great excitement throughout the United States. Texas, settled 
mostly by emigrants from the United States, was formerly a 
province of Mexico, but she had revolted, and established her 
independence. The annexation of Texas was opposed by the 
Northern States generally, and advocated by the South ; but 
finally, in the early part of 1845, the American Congress passed 
a bill, anthorizing the President to negotiate with Texas the terms 
of annexation. Bills were passed, also, providing for the admis- 
sion of Florida and Iowa, as States, into the Union. 

50. On the 4th of March, 1845, Mr. Tyler was succeeded by 
James K. Polk, in the office of President of the United States. 

5 


I 


\ OUTLINES OF FIFTH ERA. 

During the following year, 1846, another important treaty was 
negotiated with England, by which the long-pending controversy 
about the possession of Oregon was terminated. By this treaty, 
that territory, long claimed by Great Britain, and extending from 
the Rocky Mountains to the Pacific Ocean, was acknowledged to 
belong to the United States. 

51. In July of the previous year, Texas had assented to the 
terms of annexation proposed by the United States, and had thus 
become a member of the great American Confederacy. 

52. In the year 1836, Texas had revolted from Mexico, and 
by force of arms had sustained her independence against all the 
power of that Republic. Mexico, however, continued to claim 
Texas as a part of her territory, and after its annexation to the 
United States, she raised a large army for the avowed object of 
reconrjuering the country which she had lost. 

53. The United States also raised an army, and sent it to 
Texas for the purpose of retaining the country, and defending it 
an-iiinst invasion. In the month of May, the opposing forces met 
on the east side of the Rio Grande, near its moiith, and there, 
between Point Isabel and Matamoras, two battles were fought, in 
which the Mexicans were defeated. The Americans, commanded 
by General Taylor, then crossed the Rio Grande, took 3Iatamoras, 
and marched into the enemy’s territory, driving the Mexican 
troops before them. 

54. Other successes soon attended the American arms. In 
September, Monterey capitulated to General Taylor, after the 
heights surrounding the city had been stormed. Upper California 
had previously submitted to an American squadron, and the city 
of Santa F<^, a Mexican town east of the Rio Grande, had sur- 
rendered to General Kearney. 

55. On the 2od of February, 1847, General Taylor, who had 
advanced into the Mexican territory from Monterey, fought and 
routed the Mexican army, commanded by the Mexican General, 
Santa Anna, at a place called Buena Vista, although the American 
force w'as less than five thousand men, and the Mexican more 
than seventeen thousand. 


OUTLINES OF FIFTH ERA. 


li 


56. In the mean time, General Scott had been sent to take 
the chief command of the American army in Mexico. He first 
attacked the important city of Vera Cruz, which is built on the 
spot where the invader Cortez landed, more than three hundred 
years before, and, after a bombardment of four days, which caused 
great destruction of life and property, he compelled that city to 
surrender. 

57. General Scott then began his march towards the Mexican 
capital, about two hundred miles distant, in a central part of the 
Mexican territory. Many thought this a very rash movement, 
and feared that the Americans would all be cut off by the superior 
forces of the enemy. But General Scott, knowing that the 
ignorant Mexicans were very poor soldiers, was confident of 
success. At a place called Cerro Gordo, Santa Anna met him at 
the head of a large army; but, although the Mexicans had 
strongly fortified the high hills and mountain ridges, from which 
they fired down upon the Americans, the latter climbed the 
heights, sword in hand, and routed the Mexicans with great 
slaughter. 

58. General Scott then continued his march, and entered the 
cities of Jalapa and Puebla without resistance, as Santa Anna 
had collected his whole army around the city of Mexico, resolving 
to fight there the great battle which should decide the contest. 
Although General Scott had now only eleven thousand men, and 
the Mexican army numbered more than thirty thousand, he did 
not hesitate to advance. 

59. Marching along the southern borders of Lake Chaleo, in 
the southern part of the valley of Mexico, on the 18th of August 
the entire American army reached San Augustin, ten miles from 
the city. On the next day, the 19th, the fighting began in the 
vicinity of the fortified post of Contreras ; and on the 20th both 
Contreras and Churubusco were taken by assault, in which nine 
thousand Americans vanquished more than three times their 
number of Mexicans. 

60. The Mexicans now proposed to treat of peace, and the 
fighting ceased ; but after two weeks spent in fruitless attempts 


lii OUTLINE SOFFlFTHERA* 

to arrange the terms of a treaty, the Americans renewed the war, 
and, after some hard fighting, entered the city on the 14th of 
September, where they dictated peace on their own terms. By 
the treaty which was soon after concluded, the United States 
obtained from her late enemy a large increase of territory, em- 
bracing all the present New Mexico, Utah, and California. Thus 
ended our war with Mexico. 

61. Early in 1847, a bill passed Congress for the admission of 
the territory of Wisconsin into the Union; and in May, 1848, 
the State of Wisconsin became the thirtieth member of the 
Confederacy. 

62. General Taylor entered on the office of President on the 
4th of March, 1849. It was during his administration that the 
recently acquired territory of California became known to the 
American people, and to the whole civilized world, as a country 
abounding in Gold. 

63. In consequence of this important discovery, people in 
great numbers, from all parts of the world, hastened to California ; 
villages and cities sprung up, as if by magic, along the streams 
in the very wilderness ; San Francisco soon became a great com- 
mercial city ; and the population increased so rapidly, that in a 
short time California asked to be admitted into the Union as a 
sovereign State. 

64. In the mean time, General Taylor, enfeebled by age, and 
worn down by the cares and fatigues of office, died at Washington, 
on the 9th of July, 1850. Among his last words were, I have 
endeavored to do my duty. I am not afraid to die.^^ He was 
an able and good man. General Cass, one of his political 
opponents, said of him, The integrity of his motives was never 
assailed nor assailable. He had passed through a long and active 
life, neither meriting nor meeting reproach, and in his last hour 
the conviction of the honest discharge of his duty was present to 
console, even when the things of this life were fast fading away/^ 

65. The Constitution of the United States declares, that when 
the President dies, the Vice-President shall take his place, and 
perform his duties; and, therefore, on the death of President 


OUTLINES OF FIFTH ERA. 


liii 


Taylor, Millard Fillmore became acting President of the United 
States. During the early part of his administration, the country 
was greatly agitated by the discussions in Congress on the subject 
of slavery, referring particularly to the extension of domestic 
slavery to the new territories which we had acquired from ^lexico. 

66. After a long and violent debate, California was admitted 
as a State, without slavery; and Utah and New Mexico received 
territorial governments, which left the people of those territories 
free to decide, when they formed State Constitutions, whether 
slavery should exist among them, or not. One act of Congress 
forbade slaves to be carried into the District of Columbia for the 
purpose of being sold there ; and another act provided, that when 
slaves escaped from the Southern States into the free States, they 
should be given up to their owners. 

67. After the slavery agitation had been somewhat allayed by 
the acts of Congress, little occurred during the remainder of 
President Fillmore’s administration to disturb the quiet tenor of 
our country’s history. The Presidential election of 1852 was 
one of unusual quiet, and great moderation of party feeling. 
General Pierce, of New Hampshire, was elected President — 
being the fourteenth President of the United States. 

68. During the administration of President Pierce, the old 
subject of controversy respecting the extension of slavery, was 
revived by the passage of the act to organize the territories of 
Kansas and Nebraska. By this act, the people of these territories 
were allowed to fix the character of their domestic institutions, 
whenever they should be prepared to adopt a State Constitution. 

69. On the first Tuesday in November, 1856, James Buchanan 
was elected to the Presidency of the United States. At this 
point our brief record closes. Let us, in conclusion, indulge the 
earnest hope that the future of this great and glorious Republic 
may be filled with peace, prosperity, and happiness. 

70. To ensure this result, we must cultivate a spirit of con- 
cession and conciliation, avoiding the indulgence of sectional 
jealousies, and frowning upon every thing that tends to destroy 
the glorious fabric of our National Union. Let us take for the 




liv 


OUTLINES OF FIFTH ERA. 


watchword of freedom, that noble sentiment of the great American 
orator, Liberty and Union, now and forever, one and inseparable. 

Questions. —1. Early part of Washington’s administration? Expe- 
ditions of Harmar and St. Clair? 2. Some account of Vermont? 
3. Kentucky? 4. Expedition of Wayne? 5. John Adams? 6. Death 
of V/ashington? 7. Removal of the seat of government? 8. Thomas 
Jefferson? 9. Some account of Ohio. 10. What of Louisiana? 11. War 
with Tripoli? Difficulties with England ? 12. Who succeeded JeffersBon ? 

State of Louisiana? 13-14. Describe the conduct of England? 15. De- 
claration of war ? 16. General Harrison’s expedition against the Indians ? 

17. General Hull? 18. Hull’s surrender? 19. Battle of Queenstown? 
Naval battles? 20. General Harrison? Winchester? 21. Battle on 
Lake Erie ? 22. Battle with the British and Indians ? 23. Capture of 

York? 24. War on the ocean ? 25. Battle of Chippewa? 26. Lundy’s 

Lane ? 27. Battle of Plattsburg ? Battle on Lake Champlain ? 28. Attack 
on Washington? 29. War in the South? 30. General Jackson at New 
Orleans? 31. Number of the British army ? 32. Result of the battle? 

33. Treaty of Peace? 34. War with Algiers? Admission of Indiana? 
35. Mississippi? Illinois? 36. Seminole war? 37. What is said of 
Florida? Alabama? Maine? 38. Missouri and the Compromise? 
39. Mr. Adams’ accession and administration ? 40. What is said of John 

Adams and Thomas Jefferson? 41. Jackson’s accession and adminis- 
tration? 42-43. Seminole war? 44. Some account of Arkansas and 
Michigan? 45. Van Buren’s accession ? State of the country ? 47. Har- 
rison’s accession and death ? 48. Tyler’s administration ? Treaty with 

England ? 49. Annexatien of Texas ? Florida and Iowa ? 50. Mr. 

Polk’s accession? Oregon Treaty? 51. History of Texas? 53. War 
with Mexico ? 64. Successes of General Taylor ? 65. Battle of Buena 

Vista? 56. Attack of Vera Cruz? 57. Advance upon Mexico by General 
Scott ? 58-59. Battles at Contreras and Churubusco ? 60. Conditions 
of the Treaty of Peace^ 61. Wisconsin? 62. Taylor’s accession? 
California gold? 63. Effect of the discovery? 64. Death of General 
Taylor? 65. Administration of Fillmore? 66. How were the difficulties ' 
settled? 67. Who succeeded Fillmore, and when? 68. Subjects of^ 
dispute in Pierce’s administration? 69. Mr. Buchanan? 70. What 
should be the true American sentiment ? 



READING EXERCISES 


ILLUSTRATING THE FIRST ERA. 


THE NORTHMEN. 

Among tbe nations of Europe in the ninth century, and before 
that time, the most remarkable for daring adventure were the 
Northmen. These were the inhabitants of Norway, and per- 
haps those of Denmark. They were called also Norsemen and 
Normans. These Norsemen, living in a cold country, ill supplied 
with the necessaries of life, built vessels, and explored the coasts 
of Europe even within the Mediterranean. 

There they sometimes committed piracies, and sometimes 
formed settlements. Any peaceful trade they did not so much 
^as think of. In one of their expeditions the Northmen dis- 
covered Iceland, which lies west of Norw'ay, not far from Ame- 
rica ; and the discoverers called that island Snowland, because it 
was white with snow. 

The voyagers of Norw’ay for a time could not find their w'ay 
back from this island, which was discovered by a man named 
Naddok. The Northmen were accustomed to take out to sea with 
them a raven, because that bird, when let loose at sea, takes 
wing and flies immediately towards the land, and the navigators 
followed the course wdiich he took. They found the raven so 
useful that they fixed a figure of him upon their ships and stand- 
1 ards, as a mark of their regard for the bird. 

One Flokko, a pirate, being at sea, let fly his raven, as Noah in 
! the ark did with his dove, and for want of a compass, that in- 
strument being then unknown, he followed the raven^s course, 
which brought him to the lost island, and Flokko called it Iceland. 

The Northmen had a king, but their territory was divided 
among many noblemen, and the latter often quarrelled with the 
i king. In the ninth century, the King of Norway was Harold 
I Harfager, a resolute prince, who made all the earls, or jarls, as 
the Norse nobles were called, submit themselves to him. 


56 


THE NORTHMEN. 



• \ 


One of the earls, by name Ingolf, did not like to live in sub- 
jection to Harold, and be persuaded his brother-in-law, Hiorleif, 
to go with him to Iceland. Thither the brothers, then heathens, 
were accompanied by a considerable train of sev^s^ or servants, 
who were to live upon their estate, and to cultivate it. 

It appears that the colony of Ingolf prospered, and some time i 
after another emigration from Norway to Iceland was effected. 

A nobleman named Thorwald committed a murder, and was 
obliged to fly from his native country. The serfs of his estate 
loved their lord, and were ready to follow him anywhere that he 
should lead them, and they attended him to Iceland. 

Thorwald’s colony, like Ingolf ^s, flourished; and after his death, 
his son Eric enlarged his father’s domain. The prosperity of 
Eric, however, was soon disturbed. One of his neighbors, Eyolf, 
murdered some of his servants, and, thus provoked, Eric killed 
Eyolf. 

Murder cannot be committed with impunity anywhere. There ! 
were neither magistrates nor written laws at that time in Iceland; j 
but the lords of the island, that is, the proprietors of land, took * 
care that a murderer should be banished from their community. 
They decreed that Eric should suffer three years’ exile from 
Iceland. 

Eric with his followers proceeded westward in search of a place ^ 
of security, and soon landed on the coast of Greenland. This 
is supposed to have happened in 892. Thus the continent of 
America was in fact discovered by Europeans four hundred years 
before the discovery of Columbus. 

Eric, when the term of bis banishment had expired, returned 
to Iceland, and gave a very inviting account of the country where 
he had sojourned, and allured a considerable colony to establish 
themselves in the same place, w^hich Eric named Greenland. 
Afterward, both Danes and Norsemen emigrated to Greenland, 
and the Roman Catholic religion was introduced there and in 
Iceland. 

It seems that the first emigrants to Greenland found no primi- 
tive inhabitants in the country ; but subsequently a certain Ice- 
land navigator was driven to the south-west of the colony — either 
to Newfoundland or the most southern point of Greenland. There 
he and his men saw Indians, and they called them Skraellings, and 

took some of them, whom they killed from mere wantonness and 
cruelty. 

For some time the Icelandic colony subsisted in Greenland, 
but in the course of time was forgotten by Europeans, and probably 


THE NORTHMEN. 


57 


perished ; for the last account of it comes down only to the year 
1121, and from that time it was spoken of as lost Greenland. It 
is supposed that a tribe of the people now called Esquimaux 
migrated from Western America, and established themselves in 
Greenland. 

These Esquimaux are not a fighting people, and it is pre- 
sumed that they did not exterminate the colony which had been 
planted in Greenland. It is known that about 1350 a terrible 
disease, called the hlaclc deaths prevailed in Europe, and that it 
travelled like cholera in the track of navigation ; that is, it was 
transmitted by ships, and along water passages. 

This disease was terribly destructive in Denmark and in all 
Northern Europe, and is presumed to have extended westward 
to the Danish colony, which it is supposed to have nearly de- 
stroyed. Those who survived the disease mingled with the 
Skraellings, and they became one people. 

The Danes did not think much of their lost colony till 1605. 
At that time, one hundred and thirteen years after Columbus 
had discovered America, the English had also discovered the 
eastern coast of North America, and thus demonstrated the north- 
east extent of the continent. 

The fame of these discoveries reached Denmark, and the king, 
Christian IV., not to be outdone by the other kings of Europe, in 
the years 1605 and 1606 sent out ships to recover lost Green- 
land. It seems that it was easily found, though no remains of 
the colony existed. 

The Danish ships explored both sides of the peninsula of Green- 
land to a certain extent not exactly recorded. They found these 
desolate shores inhabited, and though they attempted some traflBc 
with the natives, they treated them in the European fashion of 
that day. They seized some, and killed others wdio resisted 
them. 

Six native Greenlanders, and some of their curious boats, called 
hajaks, were carried on board the Danish vessels. The love of 
country was strongly exemplified in the unfortunate captives. 
They were torn from their families and friends by those they had 
never known, and were carried they knew not whither, and no- 
thing could reconcile them to the new and strange situation in 
which they found themselves. 



58 THE DISCOVERY OF AMERICA. 

i 

THE DISCOVERY OF AMERICA BY COLUMBUS. ( 

On the morning of the 7th of October, at sunrise, several of 
the admiraFs crew thought they beheld land in the west, but so 
indistinctly that no one ventured to proclaim it, lest he should be , 
mistaken, and forfeit all chance of the reward; the Nina, how- 
ever, being a good sailer, pressed forward to ascertain the fact. ‘ 
In a little while a flag was hoisted at her mast-head, and a gun 
discharged, being the preconcerted signals for land. New joy 
was awakened throughout the little squadron, and every eye was 
turned to the west. As they advanced, however, their cloud-built 
hopes faded away, and before evening the promised land had faded 
into air. The crews now sank into a degree of dejection propor- 
tioned to their recent excitement, when new circumstances oc- 
curred to arouse them. 

Columbus, having observed great flights of small field-birds 
going towards the south-west, concluded they must be secure of 
some neighboring land, where they would find food and a resting- 
place. He knew the importance which the Portuguese voyagers 
attached to the flight of birds, by following which they had dis- 
covered most of their islands. He had now come seven hundred 
and fifty leagues, the distance at which he had computed to find 
the island of Cipango ; as there was no appearance of it, he might 
have missed it through some mistake in the latitude. He deter- 
mined, therefore, on the evening of the 7th October to alter his 
course to the west-south-west, the direction in which the birds 
generally flow, and continue that direction for at least two days. 
After all, it was no great deviation from his main course, and i 
would meet the wishes of the Pinzons, as well as be inspiring to I 
his followers generally. For three days they stood in this direc- 
tion, and the further they went the more frequent and encour- 
aging were the signs of land. 

Flights of small birds of various colours, some of them such as i 
sing in the fields, came flying about the ships, and they continued 
towards the south-west, and others were heard also flying by in 
the night. Tunny-fish played about the smooth sea; and a 
heron, a pelican, and a duck were seen, all bound in the same 
direction. The herbage which floated by the ships was fresh 
and green, as if recently from land; and the air, as Columbus 
observes, was sweet and fragrant as April breezes in Seville. 

All these, however, were regarded by the crews as so many 
delusions beguiling them on to destruction ; and when, on the 


THE DISCOVERY OF AMERICA. 


59 


evening of the third day, they beheld the sun go down upon a 
shoreless horizon, they broke forth in clamorous turbulence. 
They exclaimed against this obstinacy in tempting fate by con- 
tinuing on into a boundless sea. They insisted upon turning 
homeward, and abandoning the voyage as hopeless. Columbus 
endeavored to pacify them by gentle words, and promises of large 
rewards; but finding that they only increased in clamour, he as- 
sumed a decided tone. He told them it was useless to murmur; 
the expedition had been sent by the sovereigns to seek the Indies; 
and happen what might he was determined to persevere, until, 
by the blessing of God, he should accomplish the enterprise. 
Columbus was now at open defiance with his crew, and his situa- 
tion became desperate. Fortunately, however, the manifestations 
of neighboring land were such on the following day as no longer 
to admit of a doubt. 

Besides a quantity of fresh weeds, such as grow in rivers, they 
saw a green fish, of a kind which keeps about rocks ; then a 
branch of thorns with berries on it, and recently separated from 
the tree, floated by them ; then they picked up a reed, a small 
board, and above all a staff, artificially carved. All gloom and 
mutiny now gave way to sanguine expectation ; and throughout 
the day each one was eagerly on the watch, in hopes of being 
the first to discover the long-sough t-for land. In the evening, 
when, according to invariable custom on board the admirafs ship, 
the mariners had sung the salve regina^ or vesper hymn to the 
Virgin, he made an impressive address to his crew. He pointed 
out the goodness of God in thus conducting them by such soft 
and favorable breezes across the tranquil ocean, cheering their 
hopes continually with fresh signs, increasing as their fears aug- 
mented, and thus guiding them to a promised land. 

He now reminded them of the orders he had given on leaving 
the Canaries, that after sailing westward seven hundred leagues, 
they should not make sail after midnight. Present appearances 
authorized such a precaution. He thought it probable that they 
would make land that very night ; he ordered, therefore, a vigilant 
look-out to be kept from the forecastle, promising to whomsoever 
should make the discovery a doublet of velvet, in addition to the 
pensions given by the sovereigns. The breeze had been fresh all 
day, with more sea than usual, and they had made great progress. 
At sunset they had stood again to the west, and were ploughing 
the waves at rapid rate, the Pinta keeping the lead, from her 
superior sailing. The greatest animation prevailed throughout 
the ships; not an eye was closed that night. 

As the evening darkened, Columbus took his station at the top 


00 the discovery of America. 

of the castle or cabin, on the high poop of his vessel. How- 
ever he might carry a cheerful and confident countenance during 
the day, it was to him a time of the most painful anxiety; and j 
now, when he was wrapped from observation by the shades of 
night, he maintained an intense and unremitting watch, ranging 
his eye along the dusky horizon, in search of the. most vague in- 
dications of land. Suddenly about ten he thought he beheld a 
light glimmering at a distance. Fearing that his eager hopes 
might deceive him, he called to Pedro Gutierez, a gentleman of 
the king’s bed-chamber, and inquired whether he saw a light in j 
that direction ; the latter replied in the affirmative. 

Columbus, yet doubtful that it might be some delusion of the 
fancy, called Rodrigo Sanchez of Segovia, and made the same in- 
quiry. By the time the latter had ascended the round-house, 
the light had disappeared. They saw it once or twice afterwards 
in sudden and passing gleams, as if it were a torch in the bark 
of a fisherman, rising and sinking with the waves, or in the hand 
of some person on shore, borne up and down as he walked from 
house to house. So transient and uncertain were these gleams 
that few attached any importance to them ; Columbus, however, 
considered them as certain signs of land, and, moreover, that the 
land was inhabited. They continued their course until two in 
the morning, when a gun from the Pinta gave the joyful signal 
of the land. It was first discovered by a mariner named Rod- 
rigo de Triana; but the reward was afterwards adjudged to the 
adimiral, for having previously perceived the light. 

The land was now clearly seen about two leagues distant, 
whereupon they took in sail, and lay to, waiting impatiently for 
the dawn. The thoughts and feelings of Columbus in this little 
space of time must have been tumultuous and intense. At length, 
in spite of every diflSculty and danger, he had accomplished his 
object. The great mystery of the ocean was revealed; his theory, 
which had been the scofif of ages, was triumphantly established ; 
he had secured to himself a glory which must be as durable as the 
world itself. It is difficult even for the imagination to conceive 
the feelings of such a man at the moment of so sublime a dis- 
covery. 

What a bewildering crowd of conjectures must have thronged 
upon his mind as to the land which lay in darkness ! That it 
was fruitful, was evident from the vegetables which floated from 
its shores. He thought, too, that he perceived in the balmy air 
the fragrance of aromatic groves. The moving light which he 
beheld proved that it was the residence of man. But what were 
its inhabitants? Were they like those of the other parts of the 


THE DISCOVERY OF AMERICA. 


61 


globe ? or were they some strange and monstrous race, such as the 
imagination in those times was prone to give all remote and un- 
known regions ? Had he come upon some wild island far in the 
Indian sea? or was this the famed Cipango itself, the object of 
his golden fancies ? A thousand speculations of the kind must 
have swarmed upon him, as, with his anxious crews, he waited 
for the night to pass aw^ay ; wondering whether the morning light 
would reveal a savage wilderness, or dawn upon spicy groves, and 
glittering fanes, and gilded cities, and all the splendor of Oriental 
civilization. 

^ 

It was on the morning of Friday, the 12th of October, 1492, 
that Columbus first beheld the New World. When the day 
dawned he saw before him a level and beautiful island, several 
leagues in extent, of great freshness and verdure, and covered with 
trees like a continual orchard. Though every thing appeared in 
the wild luxuriance of untamed nature, yet the island was evi- 
dently populous, for the inhabitants were seen issuing from the 
woods, and running from all parts of the shore, where they stood 
gazing at the ships. They were all perfectly naked ; and from 
their attitude and gestures, appeared to be lost in astonishment. 

^Columbus made signal for the ships to cast anchor, and the 
boats to be manned and armed. He entered his own boat, richly 
attired in scarlet, and bearing the royal standard; whilst Martin 
Alonzo Pinzon, and Vincent Janez his brother, put off in com- 
pany in their boats, each bearing the banner of the enterprise, 
emblazoned with a green cross, having on each side the letter F. 
and I., the initials of the Castilian monarchs, Fernando and 
Isabel, surmounted by crowns. As they approached they were 
refreshed by the sight of the ample forests, which in those climates 
have extraordinary beauty of vegetation. They beheld fruits 
of tempting hue, but unknown kind, growing among the trees 
which overhung the shores. The purity and suavity of the at- 
mosphere, the crystal transparency of the seas which bathe these 
islands, give them a wonderful beauty, and must have had their 
effect upon the susceptible feelings of Columbus. No sooner did 
he land than he threw himself upon his knees, kissed the earth, 
and returned thanks to God with tears of joy. His example was 
followed by the rest, wdiose hearts indeed overflow'ed with the 
same feelings of gratitude. 

Columbus then, rising, drew his sword, displayed the royal stan- 
dard, and assembling round him the two captains, with Ilodrigo 
do Escobid, notary of the armament, Rodrigo Sanchez, and the 
rest who had landed, he took solemn possession in the name of 
6 


62 


THE DISCOVERY OF AMERICA. 


the Castilian sovereigns, giving the island the name of San Sal- 
vador. Having complied^ with the requisite forms and ceremo- 
nies, he now called upon all present to take the oath of obedience j 
to him as admiral and viceroy, representing the persons of the : 
sovereigns. 

The feelings of the crew now burst forth in the most extra- 
vagant transports. They had recently considered themselves as 
favorites of fortune, and gave themselves up to the most un- 
bounded joy. They thronged round the admiral in their over- 
flowing zeal. Some embraced him, others kissed his hands. 
Those°who had been most mutinous and turbulent during the 
voyage were now most devoted and enthusiastic. Some begged 
favors of him as a man who had already wealth and honors in 
his gift. Many abject spirits who had outraged him by their in- 
solence, now crouched as it were at his feet, begging pardon for 
all the trouble they had caused him, and offering for the future 
the blindest obedience to his commands. 

The natives of the island, when, at the dawn of day, they 
beheld the ships, with their sails set, hovering on their coast, had 
supposed them some monsters which had issued from the deep 
(luring the night. They had crowded to the beach, and watched 
their movements with awful anxiety. Their veering about appa- 
rently without effort, the shifting and furling of their sails, re- 
sembling huge wings, filled them with astonishment. When they 
beheld their boats approach the shore, and a number of strange 
beings clad in glittering steel, or raiment of various colors, landing 
upon the beach, they fled in affright to their woods. 

Finding, however, that there was no attempt to pursue nor 
molest them, they gradually recovered from their terror, and ap- 
proached the Spaniards with great awe; frequently prostrating 
themselves on the earth, and making signs of adoration. During 
the ceremony of taking possession, they remained gazing in timid 
admiration at the complexion, the beards, the shining armor,* 
and splendid dress of the Spaniards. The admiral particularly* 
attracted their attention, from his commanding height, his air ofJ« 
authority, his dress of scarlet, and the deference which was 
him by his companions; all of which pointed him out to be the 
commander. 


COLUMBUS AT BARCELONA. 


63 


COLUMBUS AT BAllCELONA. 

The letter of Columbus to the Spanish monarchs, announcing 
his discovery, had produced the greatest sensation at court. The 
event it communicated was considered the most extraordinary of 
their prosperous reign ; and following so close upon the conquest 
of Granada, was pronounced a signal mark of divine favor for 
that triumph achieved in the cause of the true faith. The sove- 
reigns themselves were for a time dazzled and bewildered by this 
sudden and easy acquisition of a new empire, of indefinite extent, 
and apparently boundless wealth ; and their first idea was to 
secure it beyond the reach of question or competition. Shortly 
after his arrival in Seville, Columbus received a letter from them, 
expressing their great delight, and requesting him to repair im- 
mediately to court, to concert plans for a second and more exten- 
sive expedition. 

As the summer was already advancing, the time favorable for 
a voyage, they desired him to make any arrangements at Seville, 
or elsewhere, that might hasten the expedition, and to inform 
them by the return of the courier what was necessary to be done 
on their part. This letter was addressed to him by the title of 

Don Christopher Columbus, our admiral of the Ocean sea, and 
viceroy and governor of the islands discovered in the Indias;^^ 
at the same time he was promised still further rewards. Colum- 
bus lost no time in complying with the commands of the sove- 
reigns. He sent a memorandum of the ships, men, and muni- 
tions that would be requisite; and having made such dispositions 
at Seville as circumstances permitted, set out on his journey for 
Barcelona, taking with him the six Indians, and the various 
curiosities and productions which he had brought from the New 
World. 

The fame of his discovery had resounded throughout the na- 
tion, and as his route lay through several of the finest and most 
populous provinces of Spain, his journey appeared like the pro- 
gress of a sovereign. Wherever he passed the surrounding 
country poured forth its inhabitants, who lined the road and 
thronged the villages. In the large towns, the streets, windows, 
and balconies were filled with eager spectators, who rent the air 
with acclamations. 

His journey was continually impeded by the multitude press- 
ing to gain a sight of him, and of the Indians, who were regarded 
with as much admiration as if they had been natives of another 
planet. It was impossible to satisfy the craving curiosity which 


i 


C4 


COIiUMBUS AT BARCELONA. 


assailed himself and his attendants, at every stage, with innumera- , 
hie questions ; popular rumor as usual had exaggerated the truth, i 
and had filled the newly-found country with all kinds of wonders, j ; 

It was about the middle of x\pril that Columbus arrived at ' 
Barcelona, where every preparation had been made to give him i 
a solemn and magnificent reception. The beauty and serenity j ; 
of the weather in that genial season and favored climate, contri- | i 
buted to give splendor to this memorable ceremony. As he drew | ■ 
near the place, many of the more youthful courtiers and hidalgos | ; 
of gallant bearing, together with a vast concourse of the populace, j i 
came forth to meet and welcome him. i 

His entrance into this noble city has been compared to one of 
those triumphs which the Komans were accustomed to decree to i 
conquerors. First were paraded the Indians, painted according j 
to their savage fashion, and decorated with tropical feathers, and 
with their national ornaments of gold ; after these were borne 
various kinds of live parrots, together with stuffed birds and ani- 
mals of unknown species, and rare plants, supposed to be of pre- 
cious qualities; while great care was taken to make a conspicuous : 
display of Indian coronets, bracelets, and other decorations of 
gold, which might give an idea of the wealth of the newly dis- 
covered regions. After these followed Columbus, on horseback, , 
surrounded by a brilliant cavalcade of Spanish chivalry. 

The streets were almost impassable from the countless multi- 
tude; the windows and balconies were crowded with the fair; 
the very roofs were covered with spectators. It seemed as if the I 
public eye could not be sated with gazing on these trophies of an 
unknown world ; or on the remarkable man by whom it had been 
discovered. There was a sublimity in this event that mingled a 
solemn feeling with the public joy. It was looked upon as a vast 
and signal dispensation of Providence in reward for the piety of 
the monarchs; and the majestic and venerable appearance of the ^ 
discoverer, so different from the youth and buoyancy that are 1 
generally expected from roving enterprise, seemed in harmony 
with the grandeur and dignity of his achievement. I 

To receive him with suitable pomp and distinction, the sove- 
reigns had ordered their throne to be placed in public, under a 
rich canopy of brocade of gold, in a vast .and splendid saloon. 
Here the king and queen awaited his arrival, seated in state, 
with the prince Juan beside them; and attended by the digni- 
taries of their court, and the principal nobility of Castile, Yalen- 
tia, Catalonia, and Aragon ; all impatient to behold the man 
who had conferred so incalculable a benefit upon the nation. At 
length Columbus entered the hall, surrounded by a brilliant 


COLUMBUS AT BARCELONA. 


G5 


crowd of cavaliers, amoDg whom, says Las Casas, he was con- 
spicuous for his stately and commanding person, which, with his 
countenance rendered venerable by his gray hairs, gave him the 
august appearance of a senator of Rome. 

A modest smile lighted up his features, showing that he en- 
joyed the state and glory in which he came ; and certainly no- 
thing could be more deeply moving to a mind inflamed by noble 
ambition, and conscious of having greatly deserved, than these 
testimonials of the admiration and gratitude of a nation, or rather 
of a world. As Columbus approached, the sovereigns rose, as if 
receiving a person of the highest rank. Bending his knees, he 
requested to kiss their hands ; but there was some hesitation on 
the part of their majesties to permit this act of vassalage. Rais- 
ing him in the most gracious manner, they ordered him to seat 
liirnself in their presence; a rare honor in this proud and punc- 
tilious court. 

At the request of their majesties, Columbus now gave an 
account of the most striking events of his voyage, and a descrip- 
tion of the islands which he had discovered. He displayed the 
specimens he had brought of unknown birds and other animals; 
of rare plants of medicinal and aromatic virtue; of native gold 
in dust, in crude masses, or labored into barbaric ornaments; 
and, above all, the natives of these countries, who were objects 
of intense and inexhaustible interest; since there is nothing to 
man so curious as the varieties of his own species. All these he 
pronounced mere harbingers of greater discoveries he had yet to 
make, which would add realms of incalculable wealth to the 
dominions of their majesties, and whole nations of proselytes to 
the true faith. 

The words of Columbus were listened to with profound emo- 
tion by the sovereigns. When he had finished, they sunk on 
their knees, and, raising their clasped hands to heaven, their eyes 
filled with tears of joy and gratitude, they poured forth thanks 
and praises to God for so great a providence; all present followed 
their example ; a deep and solemn enthusiasm pervaded that 
splendid assembly, and prevented all common acclamations of 
triumph. 

The anthem of Deum Laudamus, chanted by the choir of 
the royal chapel, with the melodious accompaniments of the in- 
struments, rose up from the midst in a full body of sacred har- 
mony, bearing up, as it were, the feelings and thoughts of the 
auditors to heaven, so that,^^ says the venerable Las Casas, ‘‘ it 
seemed as if in that hour they communicated with celestial de- 
lights. Such was the solemn and pious manner in which the 
6 * 


66 


DISCOVERY OF THE IMISSISSIPPI 


Lrilliant court of Spain celebrated this sublime event; offering 
up a grateful tribute of melody and praise^ and giving glory to 
God for the discovery of another world. 


DISCOVEEY OF THE MISSISSIPPI BY MABQUETTE. || 

Behold, in 1673, on the tenth day of June, the meek, single- 1 
hearted, unpretending, illustrious Marquette, with Joliet for his j| 
associate, five Frenchmen as his companions, and two Algonqiiins I 
as guides,lifting their two canoes on their backs, and walking I 
across the narrow portage that divides the Fox Biver from the I 
Wisconsin. They reach the water-shed ; uttering a special prayer I 
to the immaculate Virgin, they leave the streams that, flowing I 
onwards, could have borne their greetings to the castle of Que- I 
bee; already they stand by the Wisconsin. The guides re- J 
turned,^^ says the gentle Marquette, ^‘leaving us alone, in this 
unknown land, in the hands of Providence.^' France and Chris- 
tianity stood in the valley of the Mississippi. 

Embarking on the broad Wisconsin, the discoverers, as they 
sailed west, went solitarily down the stream, between alternate 
prairies and hill-sides, beholding neither man nor the wonted 
beasts of the forest : no sound broke the appalling silence, but the 
ripple of their canoe, and the lowing of the buffalo. In seven 
days, ^Ghey entered happily the Great Eiver, with a joy that 
could not be expressed and the two birch-bark canoes, raising 
their happy sails under new skies and to unknown breezes, floated 
clown the calm magnificence of the ocean stream, over the broad, 
clear sand-bars, the resort of innumerable waterfowl, gliding past 
islets that swelled from the bosom of the stream, with their tufts 
of massive thickets, and between the wide plains of Illinois and ' 
Iowa, all garlanded with majestic forests, or checkered by island 
groves and the open vastness of the prairie. 

About sixty leagues below the mouth of the Wisconsin, the 
western bank of the Mississippi bore on its sands the trail of men ; J 
a little footpath was discerned leading into a beautiful prairie; p 
and, leaving the canoes, Joliet and Marc|uette resolved alone to 
brave a meeting with the savages. After walking six miles, they 
beheld a village on the banks of a river, and two others on a 
slope, at a distance of a mile and a half from the first. The ^ 
river was the Mou-in-gou-e-na, or Moingona, of which we have 
corrupted the same into Des Moines. Marquette and Joliet 
were the first white men who trod the soil of Iowa. Commend- 


BY MARQUETTE. 


67 


ing themselves to God, they uttered a loud cry. The Indians 
, hear; four men advance slowly to meet them, bearing the peace- 
j)ipe brilliant with many-colored plumes. ^^We are Illinois,’^ 
said they, that is, when translated, “ We are men and they 
offered the calumet. An aged chief received them at his cabin 
with upraised hands, exclaiming, How beautiful is the sun, 
Frenchmen, when thou comest to visit us ! Our whole village 
awaits thee; thou shalt enter in peace into all our dwellings.’^ 
And the pilgrims were followed by the devouring gaze of an 
astonished crowd. 

At the great council, Marquette published to them the one true 
God, their Creator. He spoke, also, of the great captain of the 
French, the governor of Canada, who had chastised the Five Na- 
tions and commanded peace; and he questioned them respecting 
the Mississippi and the tribes that possessed its banks. For the 
messengers, who announced the subjection of the Iroquois, a 
magnificent festival was prepared of hominy, and fish, and the 
choicest viands from the prairies. 

After six days’ delay, and invitations to new visits, the chief- 
tain of the tribe, with hundreds of warriors, attended the strangers 
to their canoes; and, selecting a peace-pipe embellished with the 
head and neck of brilliant birds, and all feathered over with 
plumage of various hues, they hung round Marquette the mys- 
terious arbiter of peace and war, the sacred calumet, a safeguard 
among the nations. 

The little group proceeded onwards. I did not fear death,” 
says Marquette ; “ I should have esteemed it the greatest happi- 
ness to have died for the glory of God.” They passed the per- 
pendicular rocks, which wore the appearance of monsters ; they 
heard at a distance the noise of the waters of the Missouri, known 
to them by its Algonquin name of Pekitanoni ; and, when they 
came to the most beautiful confluence of rivers in the world, 
where the swifter Missouri rushes like a conqueror into the calmer 
IMississippi, dragging it, as it were, hastily to the sea, the good 
Marquette resolved in his heart, anticipating Lewis and Clarke, 
one (lay to ascend the mighty river to its source ; to cross the 
ridge that divides the oceans, and descending a westerly flowing 
stream, to publish the gospel to all the people of this New World. 

In a little less than forty leagues, the canoes floated past the 
Ohio, which was then, and long afterwards, called the Wabash. 
Its banks were tenanted by numerous villages of the peaceful 
Shawnees, who quailed under the incursions of the Iroquois. 

The thick canes begin to appear so close and strong, that the 
buflalo could not break through them ; the insects become intuler- 


08 DISCOYEllY OF THE MISSISSIPPI. 

able; as a shelter against the suns of July, the sails are folded 
into an awning. The prairies vanish ; and forests of whitewood, 
admirable for their vastness and height, crowd even to the skirts 
of the pebbly shore. It is also observed that, in the land of the 

Chickasas, the Indians have guns. 

Near the latitude of thirty-three degrees, on the western bank 
of the Mississippi, stood the village of Mitchigamea, in the region 
that had not been visited by Europeans since the days of De Soto. 

Now/' thought Marquette, we must, indeed, ask the aid of 
the Virgin." Armed with bows and arrows, with clubs, axes, 
and bucklers, amidst continual whoops, the natives, bent on war, 
embark in vast canoes made out of the trunks of hollow trees ; 
but, at the sight of the mysterious peace-pipe held aloft, God 
touched the hearts of the old men, who checked the impetuosity 
of the young; and, throwing their bows and quivers into the 
canoes, as a token of peace, they prepared a hospitable welcome. 

The next day, a long, wooden canoe, containing ten men, 
escorted the discoverers^ for eight or ten leagues to the village of 
Akansea, the limit of their voyage. They had left the region of 
the Algonquins, and, in the midst of the Sioux and Chickasas, 
could speak only by an interpreter. A half league above Akansea, 
they were met by two boats, in one of which stood the commander, 
holding in his hand the peace-pipe, and singing as he drew near. 
After offering the pipe, he gave bread of maize. The wealth of 
his tribe consisted in buffalo skins; their weapons were axes of 
steel, a proof of commerce with Europeans. 

Thus had our travellers descended below the entrance of the 
Arkansas, to the genial climes that have almost no winter but 
rains, beyond the bound of the Huron and Algonquin languages, 
to the vicinity of the Gulf of Mexico, and to tribes of Indians 
that had obtained European arms by traffic with Spaniards or with 
Virginia. 

So, having spoken of God, and the mysteries of the Catholic 
faith ; having become certain that the Father of Rivers went not 
to the ocean east of Florida, nor yet to the Gulf of California, 
Marquette and Joliet left Akansea, and ascended the Mississippi. 

At the thirty-eighth degree of latitude, they entered the River 
Illinois, and discovered a country without its paragon for the fer- 
tility of its beautiful prairies, covered with buffaloes and stags, 
for the loveliness of its rivulets, and the prodigal abundance of 
wild duck and swans, and of a species of parrots and wild tur- 
keys. The tribe of Illinois, that tenanted its banks, entreated Mar- 
quette to come and reside among them. One of their chiefs, 
with their young men, conducted the party, by way of Chicago, 


VIRGINIA. 


69 


to Lake Michigan ; and, before the end of September, all were 
safe in Green Bay. 

Joliet returned to Quebec to announce the discovery, of which 
the fame, through Talon, quickened the ambition of Colbert; the 
unaspiring Marquette remained to preach the gospel to the ]\Iia- 
mis, who dwelt in the north of Illinois, round Chicago. Two 
years afterward, sailing from Chicago to Makinaw, he entered a 
little river in Michi<ran. Erectins: an altar, he said mass after 
the rites of the Catholic church; then, begging the men who 
conducted his canoe to leave him alone for a half hour, 

“ in the darkling wood, 

Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down, 

And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks 
And supplication.” 

At the end of the half-hour, they went to seek him, and he was 
no more. The good missionary, discoverer of a w^orld, had fallen 
asleep on the margin of the stream that bears his name. Near 
its mouth, the canoemen dug his grave in the sand. Ever after, 
the forest rangers, if in danger on Lake Michigan, would invoke 
his name. The people of the west will build his monument. 


VIEGINIA. 

Virginia had long been the home of its inhabitants. Among 
many other blessings,^^ said their statute-book, ^^God Almighty 
hath vouchsafed increase of children to this colony ; who arc now 
multiplied to a considerable number, and the huts in the wilder- 
ness were as full as the bird-nests of the woods. 

The genial climate and transparent atmosphere delighted those 
who had come from the denser air of England. Every object in 
nature was new and wonderful. The Inud and frequent thunder- 
storms were phenomena that had been rarely witnessed in the 
colder summers of the north ; the forests, majestic in their growth, 
and free from underwood, deserved admiration for their unrivalled 
magnificence; the purling streams and the frequent rivers, flow- 
ing between alluvial banks, quickened the ever-pregnant soil into 
an unwearied fertility ; the strangest and the most delicate flowers 
grew familiarly in the fields; the woods were replenished with 
sweet barks and odors; the gardens matured the fruits of Europe, 
of which the growth was invigorated and the flavor improved by 
the activity of the virgin mould. 


70 * 


V IRGINIA. 


Especially the birds, with their ^ay plumage and varied melo- 
dies, inspired delight; every'traveller expressed his pleasure in 
listening to the mocking-bird, which carolled a thousand several 
tunes, imitating and excelling the notes of all its rivals. ^ The 
liuinniiniT-bird, so brilliant in its plumage and so delicate in its 
form, quick in motion yet not fearing the presence of man, haunt- 
ing about the flowers like the bee gathering honey, rebounding 
from the blossoms into which it dips its bill, and as soon returning 

to renew its many addresses to its delightful objects,'' was ever 
admired as the smallest and the most beautiful of the feathered 
race. 

The rattle-snake, with the terrors of its alarms and the power 
of its venom ; the opossum, soon to become as celebrated for the 
care of its offspring as the fabled pelican ; the noisy frog, boom- 
ing from the shallows like the English bittern ; the flying-squir- 
rel ; the myriads of pigeons, darkening the air with, the immen- 
sity of their flocks, and, as men believed, breaking with their 
weight the boughs of trees on which they alighted, — were all 
honored with frequent commemoration and became the subjects 
of the strangest tales. 

The concurrent relation of all the Indians justified the belief, 
that, within ten days' journey toward the setting of the sun, 
there was a country where gold might be washed from the sand, 
and where the natives themselves had learned the use of the cru- 
cible; but definite and accurate as were the accounts, inquiry was 
always baffled, and the regions of gold remained for two centu- 
ries an undiscovered land. 

Various were the employments by which the calmness of life 
was relieved. George Sandys, an idle man, who had been a great 
traveller, and who did not remain in America, a poet whose verse 
was tolerated by Dry den and praised by Izaak Walton, beguiled 
the ennui of his seclusion by translating the whole of Ovid's 
Metamorphoses. To the man of leisure, the chase furnished a. 
perpetual resource. It was not long before the horse was multi- 
plied in Virginia; and to improve that noble animal was early an 
object of pride, soon to be favored by legislation. Speed was 
especially valued; and ^Ohe planter's pace" became a proveib. 

Equally proverbial w^as the hospitality of the Virginians. 
Labor was valuable; land was cheap; competence promptly fol- 
lowed industry. There was no need of a scramble; abundance 
gushed from the earth for all. The morasses were alive with 
water-fowl ; the creeks abounded with oysters, heaped together in 
inexhaustible beds; the rivers were crowded with fish; the 
forests were nimble with game ; the woods rustled with covies of 


CONNECTICUT. 


71 


quails and wild turkeys, while they rung with the merry notes 
of the singing-birds ; and hogs, swarming like vermin, ran at 
large in troops. It was the best poor man^s country in the 
world. If a happy peace be settled in poor England, it had 
been said, “ then they in Virginia shall be as happy a people as 
any under heaven. But plenty encouraged indolence. No 
domestic manufactures were established; every thing was im- 
ported from England. The chief branch of industry, for the 
purpose of exchanges, was tobacco-planting; and the spirit of 
invention was enfeebled by the uniformity of pursuit. 


CONNECTICUT. 

Connecticut, from the first, possessed unmixed popular 
liberty. The government was in honest and upright hands; the 
little strifes of rivalry never became heated ; the magistrates were 
sometimes persons of no ordinary endowments ; but though gifts of 
learning and genius were valued, the state was content with virtue 
and single-mindedness; and the public welfare never suffered at the 
hands of plain men. Roger Williams had ever been a welcome 
guest at Hartford; and ‘Mhat heavenly man, John Haynes,^^ 
would say to him, I think, Mr. Williams, I must now confess 
to you, that the most wise God hath provided and cut out this 
part of the world as a refuge and receptacle for all sorts of con- 
sciences.'^ 

There never existed a persecuting spirit in Connecticut ; while 
“it had a scholar to their minister in every town or village." 
Education was cherished ; religious knowledge was carried to the 
highest degree of refinement, alike in its application to moral 
duties, and to the mysterious questions on the nature of God, of 
liberty, and of the soul. A hardy race multiplied along the allu- 
vion of the streams, and subdued the more rocky and less inviting 
fields; its population for a century doubled once in twenty years, 
in spite of considerable emigration ; and if, as has often been said, 
the ratio of the increase of population is the surest criterion of 
public happiness, Connecticut was long the happiest state in the 
world. Religion united with the pursuits of agriculture, to give 
to the land the aspect of salubrity. The domestic wars were dis- 
cussions of knotty points in theology; the concerns of the parish, 
the merits of the minister, were the weightiest affairs; and a 
church reproof the heaviest calamity. The strifes of the parent 
country, though they sometimes occasioned a levy among the sons 


72 


CONNECTICUT. 


of the husbandmen, yet never brought an enemy within their 
borders ; tranquillity was within their gates, and the peace of God 
within their hearts. No fears of midnight ruffians could disturb 
the sweetness of slumber; the best house required no fastening 
but a latch, lifted by a string; bolts and locks were unknown. 

There was nothing morose in the Connecticut character. It 
was temperate industry enjoying the abundance which it had 
created. No great inequalities of condition excited envy, or raised 
political feuds; wealth could display itself only in a larger house 
and a fuller barn ; and covetousness was satisfied by the tranquil 
succession of harvests. There was venison from the hills ; salmon, 
in their season, not less than shad, from the rivers; and sugar 
from the trees of the forest. For a foreign market little was pro- 
duced beside cattle ; and in return for them but few foreign Iulxu- 
M’ies stole in. Even so late as 1713, the number of seamen did 
not exceed one hundred and twenty. 

The soil had originally been justly divided, or held as common 
property in trust for the public, and for new comers. Forestall- 
ing was successfully resisted ; the brood of speculators in land 
inexorably turned aside. Happiness was enjoyed unconsciously ; 
beneath the rugged exterior humanity wore its sweetest smile. 
There was for a long time hardly a lawyer in the land. The hus- 
bandman who held his own plough, and fed his own cattle, was 
the great man of the age ; no one was superior to the matron, 
who, with her busy daughters, kept the hum of the wheel inces- 
santly alive, spinning and weaving every article of their dress. 

Fashion was confined within narrow limits; and pride, which 
aimed at no grander equipage than a pillion, could exulfonly in 
the common splendor of the blue and white little gown, with short 
sleeves, coming down to the waist, and in the snow-white flaxen 
apron, which, primly starched and ironed, was worn on public 
days by every woman in the land. For there was no revolution 
except from the time of sowing to the time of reaping; from the 
plain dress of the week-day to the more trim attire of Sunday. 

Every family was taught to look upward to God, as to the 
Fountain of all good. Yet life was not sombre. The spirit of 
frolic mingled with innocence : religion itself sometimes wore the 
of gayety; and the annual thanksghdng to God was, from 
primitive times, as joyous as it was sincere. Nature always asserts 
her rights, and abounds in means of gladness. 

Ihe frugality of private life bad its influence on public expen- 
diture. Half a century after the concession of the charter, the 
annual expenses of the government did not exceed eight hundred 
pounds, or four thousand dollars; and the wages of the chief jus- 


THE HUGUENOTS IN CAROLINA. 73 

tice were ten shillings a day while on service. In each county a 
magistrate acted as judge of probate, and the business was trans- 
acted with small expense to the fatherless. 

Education was always esteemed a concern of deepest interest, 
and there were common schools from the first. Nor was it long 
before a small college, such as the day of small things permitted, 
began to be established; and Yale owes its birth ^^to ten worthy 
fathers, who, in 1700, assembled at Branford, and each one, lay- 
ing a few volumes on a table, said, ^ I give these books for the 
founding of a college in this colony.^ 

But the political education of the people is due to the happy 
organization of towns, which here, as indeed throughout all New 
England, constituted each separate settlement a little democracy 
of itself. It was the natural reproduction of the system, which 
the instinct of humanity had imperfectly revealed to our Anglo- 
Saxon ancestors. In the ancient republics, citizenship had been 
an hereditary privilege. 

In Connecticut, citizenship was acquired by inhabitancy, was 
lost by removal. Each town-meeting was a little legislature, and all 
inhabitants, the aifluent and more needy, the wise and the foolish, 
were members with equal franchises. There the taxes of the town 
were discussed and levied ; there the village officers were chosen ; 
there roads were laid out, and bridges voted ; there the minister 
was elected, the representatives to the assembly were instructed. 
The debate was open to all ; wisdom asked no favors ; the churl 
abated nothing of his pretensions. 

Whoever reads the records of these village democracies, will be 
perpetually coming upon some little document of political wisdom, 
which breathes freshness of rural legislation, and wins a dispro- 
portioned interest, from the justice and simplicity of the times. 
As the progress of society required exertions in a wider field, the 
public mind was quickened by associations that were blended with 
early history ; and when Connecticut emerged from the quiet of 
its origin, and made its way into scenes where a new political 
world was to be created, the sagacity that had regulated the affairs 
of the village, gained admiration in the field and in council. 


THE HUGUENOTS IN CABOLINA. 

What need of describing the stripes, the roastings by slow 
fires, the plunging into wells, the gashes from knives, the wounds 
from red-hot pincers, and all the cruelties employed by men who 

7 


74 


THE HUGUENOTS IN CAROLINA. 


were only forbidden not to ravish nor to kill ? The loss of lives 
cannot be computed. How many thousands of men, how many 
thousands of children and women, perished in the attempt to 
escape, who can tell ? An historian has asserted that ten thou- 
sand perished at the stake, or on the gibbet and the wheel. 

But the efforts of tyranny were powerless. Truth enjoys 
serenely her own immortality ; and opinion, which always yields 
to a clearer conviction, laughs violence to scorn. The unparal- 
leled persecution of vast masses of men for their religious creed, 
occasioned but a new display of the power of humanity ; the Cal- 
vinists preserved their faith over the ashes of their churches, 
and the bodies of their murdered ministers. The power of a 
brutal soldiery was defied by whole companies of faithful men, 
that still assembled to sing their psalms; and from the country 
and the city, from the comfortable homes of wealthy merchants, 
from the abodes of an humbler peasantry, from the workshops of 
artisans, hundreds of thousands of men rose up, as with one heart, 
to bear testimony to the indefeasible, irresistible right to freedom 
of mind. 

Every wise government was eager to offer a refuge to the up- 
right men who would carry to other countries the arts, the skill 
in manufactures, and the wealth of France. Emigrant Hugue- 
nots put a new aspect on the north of Germany, where they filled 
entire towns and sections of cities, introducing manufactures be- 
fore unknown. A suburb of London was filled wdth French me- 
chanics ; the prince of Orange gained entire regiments of soldiers, 
as brave as those whom Cromwell led to victory; a colony of them 
reached even the Cape of Good Hope. 

In our American colonies they were welcome everywhere. The 
religious sympathies of New England were awakened; did any 
arrive in poverty, having barely escaped with life ? — the towns of 
Massachusetts contributed liberally to their support, and provided 
them with lands. Others repaired to New York; but the warmer 
climate was more inviting to the exiles of Languedoc, and South 
Carolina became the chief resort of the Huguenots. What 
though the attempt to emigrate was by the law of France a felony ? 
In spite of every precaution of the police, five hundred thousand 
souls escaped from their country. The unfortunate were more 
wakeful to fly than the ministers of tyranny to restrain. 

Escaping from a land where the profession of their religion was 
a felony, where their estates were liable to be confiscated in favor 
of the apostate, where the preaching of their faith was a crime to 
be expiated on the wheel, where their children might be torn from 
them, to be subjected to the nearest Catholic relation — the fugitives 


NEW NETHERLANDS AND NEW YORK. 


75 


from Languedoc on the Mediterranean, from Rochelle, and Saintange, 
and Bordeaux, the provinces on the Bay of Biscay, from St. Quen- 
tin, Poictiers, and the beautiful valley of Tour, from St. Lo and 
Dieppe, men who had the virtues of the English Puritans, with- 
out their bigotry, came to the land to which the tolerant benevo- 
lence of Shaftesbury had invited the believer of every creed. 

From a land that had suffered its king, in wanton bigotry, to 
drive half a million of its best citizens into exile, they came to 
the land which was the hospitable refuge of the oppressed ; where 
superstition and fanaticism, infidelity and faith, cold speculation 
and animated zeal, were alike admitted without question, and where 
the fires of religious persecution were never to be kindled. There 
they obtained an assignment of lands, and soon had tenements; 
there they might safely make the woods the scene of their devo- 
tions, and join the simple incense of their psalms to the melodies 
of the winds among the ancient groves. Their church was in 
Charleston ; and thither, on every Lord^s day, gathering from 
their plantations upon the banks of the Cooper, and taking advan- 
tage of the ebb and flow of the tide, they might all regularly be 
seen, the parents with their children, whom no bigot could now 
wrest from them, making their way in light skiffs along the river, 
through scenes so tranquil, that silence was broken only by the 
rippling of oars, and the hum of the flourishing village that 
gemmed the confluence of the rivers. 


NEW NETHERLANDS AND NEW YORK. 

Sombre forests shed a melancholv irrandeur over the useless 
magnificence of nature, and bid in their deep shades the rich soil 
which the sun had never warmed. No axe had levelled the giant 
progeny of the crowded groves, in which the fantastic forms of 
withered limbs, that had been blasted and riven by lightning, con- 
trasted strangely with the verdant freshness of a younger growth 
of branches. The wanton grape-vine, seeming by its own power 
to have sprung from the earth, and to have fastened its leafy coils 
on the top of the tallest forest tree, swung in the air with every 
breeze, like the loosened shrouds of a ship. 

Trees might everywhere be seen breaking from their root in 
the marshy soil, and threatening to fall with the first rude gust ; 
while the ground was strown with the ruins of former forests, 
over which a profusion of 'wild flowers wasted their freshness in 
mockery of the gloom. Reptiles sported in the stagnant pools, 
or crawled unharmed over piles of mouldering trees. 


7G NEW NETHERLANDS AND NEW YORK. 

The spotted deer couched among the thickets ^ but not to hide, 
for there was no pursuer^ and there were none but wild animals 
to crop the uncut herbage of the productive prairies. Silence 
reigned, broken, it may have been, by the flight of land-birds or 
the flapping of water-fowl, and rendered more dismal by the howl 
of beasts of prey. The streams, not yet limited to a channel, 
spread over sand-bars, tufted with copses of willow, or waded 
through wastes of reeds; or slowly but surely undermined the 
groups of sycamores that grew by their side. The smaller brooks 
spread out into sedgy swamps, and were overhung by clouds of 
mosquitoes; masses of decaying vegetation fed the exhalations 
with the seeds of pestilence, and made the balmy air of the sum- 
mer's evening as deadly as it seemed grateful. Vegetable life and 
death were mingled hideously together. The horrors of corrup- 
tion frowned on the fruitless fertility of uncultivated nature. 

And man, the occupant of the soil, was wild as the savage scene, 
in harmony with the rude nature by w^hich he was surrounded ; a 
vagrant over the continent, in constant warfare with his fellow- 
man ; the bark of the birch his canoe ; strings of shells his or- 
naments, his record, and his coin ; the roots of the forest among 
his resources for food ; his knowledge in architecture surpassed both 
in strength and durability by the skill of a beaver; bended sap- 
lings the beams of his house; the branches and rind of trees its 
roof; drifts of forest leaves his couch ; mats of bulrushes his pro- 
tection against the winter’s cold ; his religion the adoration of na- 
ture ; his morals the promptings of undisciplined instinct ; dis- 
puting with the wolves and bears the lordship of the soil, and 
dividing with the squirrel the wild fruits with which the universal 
M'oodlands abounded. 

And how changed is the scene from that on which Hudson 
gazed ! The earth glows with the colors of civilization ; the banks 
of the streams are enamelled with richest grasses; woodlands and 
cultivated fields are harmoniously blended ; the birds of spring 
find their delight in orchards and trim gardens, variegated with 
choicest plants from every temperate zone; while the brilliant 
flowers of the tropics bloom from the windows of the greenhouse 
and the saloon. The yeoman, living like a good neighbor near 
the fields he cultivates, glories in the fruitfulness of the valleys, 
and counts with honest exultation the flocks and herds that browse 
in safety on the hills. The thorn has given way to the rosebush; 
the cultivated vine clambers over rocks w^bere the brood of ser- 
pents used to nestle ; while industry smiles at the changes she has 

wrought, and inhales the bland air which now has health on its 
wings. 


THE LANDING OF THE MAYFLOWER. 



THE LANDING OF THE MAYFLOWER. 

Do you think, sir, as we repose beneath this splendid pavilion, 
adorned by the hand of taste, blooming with festive garlands, 
wreathed with the stars and stripes of this great republic, resound- 
ing with strains of heart-stirring music, that, merely because it 
stands upon the soil of Barnstable, we form any idea of the spot 
as it appeared to Captain Miles Standish, and his companions, on 
the 15th or 16th of November, 1620? Oh, no, sir. Let us go 
up for a moment, in imagination, to yonder hill, which overlooks 
the village and the bay, and suppose ourselves standing there on 
some bleak, ungenial morning, in the middle of November of that 
year. 

The coast is fringed with ice. Dreary forests, interspersed with 
sandy tracts, fill the background. Nothing of humanity quickens 
on the spot, save a few roaming savages, who, ill-provided with 
what even they deem the necessaries of life, are digging with their 
fingers a scanty repast out of the frozen sands. No friendly light- 
houses had as yet hung up their cressets upon your headlands ; 
no brave pilot-boat was hovering like a sea-bird on the tops of the 
waves, beyond the Cape, to guide the shattered bark to its harbor; 
no charts and soundings made the secret pathways of the deep as 
plain as a gravelled road through a lawn ; no comfortable dwell- 
ings along the line of the shore, and where are now your well- 
inhabited streets, spoke a welcome to the Pilgrim ; no steeple 
poured the music of Sabbath morn into the ear of the fugitive for 
conscience^ sake. 

Primeval wildness and native desolation brood over sea and 
land ; and from the 9th of November, when, after a most cala- 
mitous voyage, the Mayflower first came to anchor in Province- 
town harbor, to the end of December, the entire male portion of 
the company was occupied, for the greater part of every day, and 
often by night as well as by day, in exploring the coast and seek- 
ing a place of rest, amidst perils from the vsavages, from the un- 
known shore, and the elements, which it makes one’s heart bleed 
to think upon. 

But this dreary waste, whieh we thus contemplate in imagina- 
tion, and which they traversed in sad reality, is a chosen land. 
It is a theatre upon which an all-glorious drama is to be enacted. 
On this frozen soil, — driven from the ivy-clad churches of their 
mother land, — escaped, at last, from loathsome prisons, — the 
meek fathers of a pure church will lay the spiritual basement of 
their temple. Here, on the everlasting rock of liberty, they will 


78 


THE LANDING OF THE jMAYFLOWER. 


establish the foundation of a free State. Beneath its ungenial 
wintry sky, principles of social right, institutions of civil govern- 
ment, shall germinate, in which, what seemed the Utopian dreams 
of visionary sages, are to be more than realized. 

But let us contemplate, for a moment, the instruments selected 
by Providence, for this political and moral creation. However 
unpromising the field of action, the agents must correspond with 
the excellence of the work. The time is truly auspicious. Eng- 
land is well supplied with all the materials of a generous enter- 
prise. She is in the full affluence of her wealth of intellect and 
character. The age of Elizabeth has passed and garnered up its 
treasures. 

The age of the commonwealth, silent and unsuspected, is ripen- 
ing towards its harvest of great men. The Burleighs and Cecils 
have sounded the depths of statesmanship; the Drakes and Ra- 
leighs have run the whole round of chivalry and adventure; the 
Cokes and Bacons are spreading the light of their master-minds 
through the entire universe of philosophy and law. Out of a 
generation of which men like these are the guides and lights, it 
cannot be difficult to select the leaders of any lofty undertaking ; 
and, through their influence, to secure to it the protection of 
royalty. 

But, alas, for New England ! No, sir, happily for New England, 
Providence wmrks not with human instruments. Not many wise 
men after the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble, are called. 
The stars of human greatness, that glitter in a court, are not des- 
tined to rise on the lowering horizon of the despised Colony. The 
feeble company of Pilgrims is not to be marshalled by gartered 
statesmen, or mitred prelates. Fleets will not be despatched to 
convoy the little band, nor armies to protect it. 

Had there been honors to be won, or pleasures to be enjoyed, 
or plunder to be grasped, hungry courtiers, mid-summer friends, 
godless adventurers, would have eaten out the heart of the enter- 
prise. Silken Buckinghams and Somersets would have blasted 
it with their patronage. But, safe amidst their unenvied perils, 
strong in their inoffensive weakness, rich in their untempting 
poverty, the patient fugitives are permitted to pursue unmolested 
the thorny paths of tribulation ; and, landed at last on the un- 
friendly shore, the hosts of God, in the frozen mail of December, 
encamp around the dwellings of the just; 

“ Stern famine guards the solitary coast, 

And winter barricades the realms of frost.” 

While Bacon is attuning the sweetest strains of his honeyed 




THE LANDING OF THE MAYFLOWER. 


79 


eloquence to soothe the dull ear of a crowned pedant, and his great 
rival, only less obsequious, is on his knees to deprecate the royal 
displeasure, the future founders of the new republic beyond the 
sea are training up for their illustrious mission, in obscurity, hard- 
ship, and weary exile in a foreign land. 

And now, — for the fulness of time is come, — let us go up 
once more, in imagination, to yonder hill, and look out upon the 
November scene. That single dark speck, just discernible through 
the perspective glass, on the waste of waters, is the fated vessel. 
The storm moans through her tattered canvas, as she creeps, almost 
sinking, to her anchorage in Provincetown harbor; and there she 
lies, with all her treasures, not of silver and gold, (for of these 
she has none,) but of courage, of patience, of zeal, of high spi- 
-Titual daring. 

So often as I dwell in imagination on this scene; when I con- 
sider the condition of the Mayflower, utterly incapable, as she 
was, of living through another gale ; wPen 1 survey the terrible 
front presented by our coast to the navigator who, unacquainted 
with its channels and roadsteads, should approach it in the stormy 
season, I dare not call it a mere piece of good fortune, that the 
general north and south wall of the shore of New England should 
be broken by this extraordinary projection of the Cape, running 
out into the ocean a hundred miles, as if on purpose to receive 
and encircle the precious vessel. 

As I now see her, freighted with the destinies of a continent, 
barely escaped from the perils of the deep, approaching the shore 
precisely wdiere the broad sweep of this most remarkable headland 
presents almost the only point, at w’hich, for hundreds of miles, 
she could, with any ease, have made a harbor, and this, perhaps, 
the very best on the seaboard, I feel my spirit raised above the 
sphere of mere natural agencies. 

I see the mountains of New England rising from their rocky 
thrones. They rush forward into the ocean, settling down as they 
advance; and there they range themselves, as a mighty bulwark 
around the Heaven-directed vessel. Yes, the everlasting God 
' himself stretches out the arm of his mercy and his power, in sub- 
stantial manifestation, and gathers the meek company of his wor- 
shippers as in the hollow of his hand. 


80 


CAPTURE OF JOHN SMITH. 


CAPTURE OF JOHN SMITH. 

The winter of 1607, remarkable for an extraordinary frost in 
Europe, was extremely cold in Virginia; but no seasons seemed 
to discourage the enterprise of our hero. He penetrated the 
Chickahominy for fifty miles in his barge, cutting bis way through 
trees where they bad fallen across the stream, and pressing on, 
from point to point, with all the diligence and address which 
marked his character. 

At length, the shoals becoming such as to endanger his vessel, 
he procured a canoe from the Indians, two of whom were engaged 
as oarsmen. Having put the barge in security, and given ex-' 
press charge to his men not to go ashore, he took with him two 
of his people, and with the two Indians continued his further 
voyage in the canoe.' 

Smith had learned many admirable lessons in foreign warfare, 
but he was yet to learn the subtlety of those tribes whose forests 
he had begun to subdue. The probability is, that every footstep 
which he took from the mouth of the Chickahominy was noted 
by the spies of Powhatan. Whether the two Indians who rowed 
his boat were faithful to him is quite questionable. He himself 
was without suspicion, as he was without fear. He ascended the 
river in the canoe some twenty miles above the spot where his 
barge was anchored. 

Here, as the river was cumbered with trees and foliage, though 
still keeping suflScient depth for his progress, he left the canoe in 
the charge of the two Englishmen and one of the Indians. The 
other he took with him, and went ashore to see the nature of 
the soil/^ and to head or cross the tributary branches of the 
stream. On leaving the canoe, he instructed his followers to keep 
their matches alight, and to discharge a piece at the first appear- 
ance of danger. With these precautions, deeming himself "^tole- 
rably secure, he passed with his guide into the forests. 

A quarter of an hour had not elapsed, after his leaving the 
canoe, when he was startled by the war-whoop of the savage. 
No warning matchlock apprised him of the proximity of any 
enemy, and believing that the two whom he had left with the 
canoe had been betrayed and murdered by his Indian guide, with 
the prompt decision of his character, he at once grappled with 
the Indian, his companion. The stern resolution of our adven- 
tuier, w’ith the suddenness of his movement, disarmed the savage 
and subdued his spirit; and Smith, with his garters, bound the 


CAPTURE OF JOHN SMITH. 


81 


arm of the savage tightly to one of his own ; thus preparing to 
use him as a buckler. 

He had scarcely taken this precaution, when he felt himself 
struck with an arrows upon the thigh. The shaft did not hurt, 
being discharged from a respectful distance ; but a moment after 
the vigilant eyes of our hero discovered two other Indians about 
to draw their bows upon him. He anticipated them by a dis- 
charge of his pistol, the effects of which they already knew. 
This sent them flying for a while, and enabled him to reload his 
weapon. 

But they soon returned to the conflict, and Smith, retreating 
with his face toward them, and his fettered Indian — who proved 
quite submissive — still as a buckler betw^een their darts and his 
bosom, slowly aimed to make his way backward to the canoe. 
But the sudden appearance upon the ground, of Opechancanough, 
one of their greatest chiefs, at the head of more than twm hun- 
dred warriors, soon lessened, if it did not utterly destroy his 
hopes. 

But Smith was not to be subdued. He knew too much of the 
barbarian nature to exhibit any apprehensions ; and, steadily con- 
tinuing to retire, answered some twenty or thirty of their arrows 
with four or five pistol-shots. To approach him closely while 
possessed of these formidable weapons was no part of the Indian 
policy, and to do him much hurt at a distance, while he so adroitly 
interposed their comrade between him and their shafts, was soon 
discovered to be no easy matter. A conference took place be- 
tween the parties. Smith was told that his two followers were 
slain, but that his life would be spared if he would yield himself. 

]hit he must have better terms than this. He must be per- 
mitted to retire in safety to the boat. He will not deliver up his 
arms. He will use them, and shoot with them famously, though 
his Indian buckler-man importunes him not to do so. This con- 
ference was carried on with less formal state than is customary on 
such occasions, as well in barbarous as in Christian countries. 

It was a sort of running conference — a running fight at the 
same time ; Smith backing regularly as he argued, and drawing 
his tethered Indian along with him, very awkwardly placed, no 
doubt, between two fires, and anxious to get away; Opechanca- 
nough pressing upon him within treating and fighting distance, un- 
willing to provoke the pistol, but resolved that the Captain shall 
not get away. 

It is difficult to say how long this curious sort of strife could 
have been maintained, and what would have been its final issue, 
had not a mishap befallen our adventurer, against which he had 


82 


SMITH SAVED BY POCAHONTAS. 




made no provision. Ketreatinsr still, 'with face averted from the 
path which he treads, he walks suddenly into a morass, into 
'W^hich he drags perforce his unwilling companion. 

This morass alone had protected him from assault in the rear. 
But he was too busy with his fees in front to think of any other 
danger, and, up to his waist in bog, he cannot extricate himself 
without assistance. The hope of escape is at an end. He flings 
away his pistols, and makes signs of submission ; and he who has 
tasted of the perils of Turkish bondage will now have an oppor- ! 
tunity of comparing it with that of the Apalachian. 


SMITH SAVED BY POCAHONTAS. 

The appearance of the captive before the king was welcomed 
by a shout from all the people. This does not appear to have 
been an outbreak of exultation. On the contrary, the disposition 
seems to have been to treat the prisoner with becoming gravity and 
consideration. A handsome young woman, the Queen of Apa- 
mattuck, is commanded to bring him water, in which to wash his 
hands. Another stands by with a bunch of feathers, a substitute 
for the towel, with which he dries them. 

Food is then put. before him, and he is instructed to eat, while 
a long consultation takes place between the Emperor and his chief 
warriors as to what shall be done with the captive. In this ques- 
tion Smith is quite too deeply interested to give himself entirely , 
to the repast before him. He keeps up a stout heart and a manly 
countenance; but, to employ some of the lines quoted by the 
quaint narrator, whose statements he adopts, 

“ Sure his heart was sad ; 

For who can pleasant be and rest, 

That lives in feare and dread?” 

The discussion results unfavorably. His judges decide against | 
him. It is the policy of the savages to destroy him. He is their 
great enemy. He is the master spirit of the powerful and intru- 
- sive strangers. They have already discovered this. They have 
seen that by his will and energies, great courage and equal dis- 
cretion, he has kept down the discontents, disarmed the rebel- 
lious, and strengthened the feeble among his brethren ; and they 
have sagacity enough to understand how much more easy it will ' 
be, in the absence of this one adventurous warrior, to overthrow i 
and root out the white colony which he has planted. 


SMITH SAVED BY POCAHONTAS. 


83 


It is no brutal passion for blood and murder which prompts 
their resolution. It is a simple and clear policy, such as has 
distinguished the decision in like cases of far more civilized, and 
even Christian communities; and the award of the council of 
Powhatan is instant death to the prisoner. He is soon apprised 
of their decision by their proceedings. Two great stones are 
brought into the assembly, and laid before the king. Then as 
many as could lay hands on him, dragged him to them, and thereon 
layd his head.^' Being ready with their clubs to beate out his 
braines,^' it was then that “ Pocahontas, the King^s dearest 
daughter,^ ^ interposed for his safety. 

It seems that she first strove to move her father by entreaties, 
but finding these of no avail, she darted to the place of execution, 
and before she could be prevented, got the head of the captive in 
her arms, and laying her own upon it, in this way arrested the 
stroke of the executioner. And this was the action of a child 
ten years old ! We may imagine the exquisite beauty of such a 
spectacle — the infantine grace, the feminine tenderness, the 
childish eagerness, mingled with uncertainty and fear, with which 
she maintained her hold upon the object of her concern and 
solicitude, until the wild and violent passion of her father had 
been appeased. 

This is all that comes to us of the strange, but exquisite dra- 
matic spectacle. Few details are given us. The original narra- 
tors from whom we draw are cold and lifeless in their statements. 
Smith himself says little on the subject; and in the narrative 
already quoted — that of Watson — especially known as his, it is 
curious to note that the whole event is omitted, not even the 
slightest allusion being made to Pocahontas. But it is not denied 
that we may conceive for ourselves the beauty and the terror of 
this highly tragic scene. 

Imagination may depict the event in her most glowing colors. 
The poet and the painter will make it their own. They will show 
us the sweet child of the forest clasping beneath her arm the head 
of the pale warrior, while the stroke of death, impending over 
both, awaits but the nod of the mighty chieftain, whose will is 
law in all that savage region. They will show us first the rage 
and fury which fill his eyes as he finds himself baffled by his child, 
and then the softening indulgence with which he regards that 
pleading sweetness in her glance which has always had such power 
over his soul. 

“ She was the King’s dearest daughter this is the language 
of the unaffected and simple chroniclers, and her entreaty pre- 
vails for the safety of the prisoner. Her embrace seems to have 


I 


consecrated from harm the head of the strange intruder. The 
policy of her nation, their passion for revenge and blood, all yield 
to the potent humanity which speaks in the heart of that unbap-^ 
tized dLghter of the forest, and the prisoner is freed from his 
bonds and given to the damsel who has saved him. Henceforth 
he is her captive. That is the decree cf Powhatan. He shall be 
spared to make her bells and her beads, and to weave, into proper 
form, her ornaments of copper. 


TRIALS OF THE PILGRIMS. 

From the dark portals of the Star Chamber, and in the stern ] 
text of the acts of uniformity, the Pilgrims received a commission ' | 
more efficient than any that ever bore the royal seal. Their ban- ‘ 
ishment to Holland was fortunate ; the decline of their little com- i 
pany in the strange land was fortunate; the difficulties wLicli 
they experienced in getting the royal consent to banish themselves 
to this wilderness were fortunate ; all the tears and heart-break- 
ings of that ever-memorable parting at Delfthaven had the hap- 
piest influence on the rising destinies of New England. All this 
purified the ranks of the settlers. These rough touches of for- 
tune brushed off the light, uncertain, selfish spirits. They made 
it a grave, solemn, self-denying expedition, and required of those, 
who engaged in it, to be so too. They cast a broad shadow of 
thought and seriousness over the cause; and if this sometimes 
deepened into melancholy and bitterness, can we find no apology 
for such a human weakness ? 

It is sad, indeed, to reflect on the disasters which the little 
band of pilgrims encountered; and to see a portion of them, the 
prey of unrelenting cupidity, treacherously embarked in an un-' 
sound, unseaworthy ship, which they are soon obliged to abandon, 
and crowd themselves into one vessel — one hundred persons, 
besides the ship^s company, in a vessel of one hundred and eighty 
tons ! One is touched at the story of the long, cold, and weary 
autumnal passage; of the landing on the inhospitable rocks at 
this dismal season, where they are deserted, before long, by the 
ship which had brought them, and which seemed their only hold 
upon the world of fellow-men, — a prey to the elements and to 
want, and fearfully ignorant of the numbers, the power, and the 
temper of the savage tribes that filled the unexplored continent 
upon whose verge they had ventured. But all this wrought 
together for good. These trials of wandering and exile, of the 


TRIALS OF THE PILGRIMS. 


85 


ocean, the winter, the wilderness, and the savage foe, were the 
final assurance of success. 

It was these that put far away from our fathers’ cause all patri- 
cian softness, all hereditary claims to preeminence. No efFemi~ 
nate nobility crowded into the dark and austere ranks of the Pil- 
grims; no Carr or Villiers would lead on the ill-provided band 
of despised Puritans; no well-endowed clergy were on the alert to 
quit their cathedrals, and set up a pompous hierarchy in the frozen 
wilderness; no craving governors were anxious to be sent over to 
our cheerless El Dorados of ice and of snow. No ; they could not say 
they had encouraged, patronized, or helped the Pilgrims ; their own 
cares, their own labors, their own councils, their own blood, con- 
trived all, achieved all, bore all, sealed all. They could not after- 
wards fairly pretend to reap where they had not strown ; and as our 
fathers reared this broad and solid fabric with pains and w'atch- 
fulness, unaided, barely tolerated, it did not fall when the favor, 
which had always been withholden, was changed into wrath — 
when the arm, which had never supported, was raised to destroy. 

Methinks I see it now, that one solitary, adventurous vessel, 
the May-Flower of a forlorn hope, freighted with the prospects 
of a future state, and bound across the unknown sea. I behold 
it pursuing, with a thousand misgivings, the uncertain, the 
tedious voyage. Suns rise and set, and weeks and months pass, 
and winter surprises them on the deep, but brings them not the 
sight of the wished-for shore. I see them now, scantily supplied 
with provisions, crowded almost to sufibcation in their ill-stored 
prison, delayed by calms, pursuing a circuitous route; and now 
driven in fury before the raging tempest, on the high and giddy 
waves. The awful voice of the storm howls through the rigging; 
the laboring masts seem straining from their base; the dismal 
sound of the pumps is heard ; the ship leaps, as it were madly, 
from billow to billow; the ocean breaks, and settles with ingulf- 
ing floods over the floating deck, and beats, with deadening, 
shivering weight, against the staggered vessel. I see them, 
escaped from these perils, pursuing their all but desperate under- 
taking, and landed, at last, after a few months’ passage, on the 
ice-clad rocks of Plymouth, — W’eak and weary from the voyage, 
poorly armed, scantily provisioned, depending on the charity of 
their ship-master for a draught of beer on board, drinking nothing 
but water on shore, — without shelter, — without means, — sur- 
rounded by hostile tribes. 

Shut now the volume of history, and tell me, on any principle 
of human probability, what shall be the fate of this handful of 
adventurers. Tell me, man of military science, in how many 
8 


86 


LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS. 


niontbs were they all swept off by the thirty savage tribes, enume- 
rated within the early limits of New England? Tell me, poli-^ 1 
tician, how long did this shadow of a colony, on which your con- 
ventions and treaties had not smiled, languish on the distant 
coast? Student of history, compare for me the baffled projects, 
the deserted settlements, the abandoned adventures, of other 
times, and find the parallel of this. j 

Was it the winter’s storm, beating upon the houseless heads * 
of women and children ? was it hard labor and spare meals? was 
it disease ? was it the tomahawk ? was it the deep malady of a 
blighted hope, a ruined enterprise, and a broken heart, aching, in 
its last moments, at the recollection of the loved and left, beyond 
the sea ) was it some, or all of these united, that hurried this for- 
saken company to their melancholy fate ? And is it possible 
that neither of these causes, that not all combined, were able to 
blast this bud of hope ! Is it possible, that, from a beginning so i 
feeble, so frail, so worthy, not so much of admiration as of pity, 
there has gone forth a progress so steady, a growth so wonderful, I 
an expansion so ample, a reality so important, a promise, yet to | 
be fulfilled, so glorious ! I 


LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS. 

1. The breaking waves dashed high - ; 

On a stern and rock-bound coast, . ^ j 

And the woods against a stormy sky, 

Their giant branches tossed ; 

2. And the heavy night hung dark, 

The hills and waters o'er, 

When a band of exiles moored their bark 
On the wild New England shore. 

3. Not as the conqueror comes, ! 

They, the true-hearted, came. 

Not with the roll of the stirring drums. 

And the trumpet that rings of fame. 

4. Not as the flying come, ^ 

In silence, and in fear. 

They shook the depths of the desert's gloom 
With their hymns of lofty cheer. 

5. Amid the storm they sang. 

And the stars heard, and the sea ; 

And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang 
To the anthem of the free. 


SONG OF EMIGRATION. 


87 


6. The ocean eagle soared 

From his nest by the white wavers foam. 

And the rocking pines of the forest roared ; 

This was their welcome home. 

7. There were men with hoary hair, 

Amid that pilgrim band, 

Why had they come to wither there. 

Away from their childhood^s land ? 

8. There was woman's fearless eye, 

Lit by her deep love's truth ; 

There was manhood's brow, serenely high. 

And the fiery heart of youth. 

9. What sought they thus afar? 

Bright jewels of the mind? 

The wealth of seas, the spoils of war ? 

They sought a faith's pure shrine 1 

10. Ay, call it holy ground. 

The soil where first they trod ! 

They have left unstained what there they found I 
Freedom to worship Godl 


SONG OF ExMIGRATION. 

1. There was heard a song on the chiming sea, 

A mingled breathing of grief and glee ; 

Man's voice unbroken by sighs was there. 

Filling with triumph the sunny air; 

Of fresh, green lands, and of pastures new. 

It sang, while the bark through the surges flew. 

But ever and anon 

A murmur of farewell. 

Told by its plaintive tone. 

That from woman's lips it fell. 

2. “ Away, away o'er the foaming main !" 

This was the free and joyous strain — 

“ There are clearer skies than ours afar, 

AVe will shape our course by a brighter star ; 

There are plains whose verdure no foot hath pressed, 
And whose wealth is all for the first brave guest." 

“ But alas! that we should go," 

Sang the farewell voices then, 

“ From the homestead warm and low 
By the brook and in the glen I" 


88 


POCHAHONTAS. 




3. ^‘We will rear new homes, under trees that glow 
As if gems were the fruitage of every bough ; 

O’er our white walls Ave will train the vine, 

And sit in its shadow at day\s decline ; 

And watch our herds as they range at will 
Through the green savannahs, all bright and still/^ 
“But woe for that SAveet shade 
Of the flowering orchard-trees, 

Where first our children played 
^Mid birds and honey-bees 

4. “ All, all our own shall the forests be. 

As to the bound of the roe-buck free ! 

None shall say, ‘ Hither, no further pass!’ 

We will track each step through the wavy grass; 
We will chase the elk in his speed and might. 

And bring proud spoils to the hearth at night.’* 

“ But oh I the gray church-tOAver, 

And the sound of the Sabbath-bell, 

And the sheltered garden-bower. 

We haA^e bid them all farewell I” 

5. “We will give the names of our fearless race 
To each bright river whose course we trace ; 

We will leave our memory Avith mounts and floods. 
And the path of our daring, in boundless Avoods ; 
And our Avorks on many a lake’s green shore. 
Where the Indians’ graves lay alone, before.” 

“ But who shall teach the flowers 
Which our children loA'ed, to dAvell 
In a soil that is not ours ? 

Home, home and friends, farewell !” 


POCAHONTAS. 

It is difficult to speak of the character of Pocahontas without 
falling into extravagance. Though our whole knowledge of her 
is confined to a few brilliant and striking incidents, yet there is 
in them so complete a consistency, that reason, as well as imagi- 
nation, permits us to construct the whole character from these oc- 
casional manifestations. She seems to have possessed every 
quality essential to the perfection of the female character; the 
most graceful modesty, the most winning sensibility, strong affec- 
tions, tenderness and delicacy of feeling, dove-like gentleness, and 
most entire disinterestedness. These beautiful qualities -were not 
in her nurtured and trained by the influences of refined life, but 
were the native and spontaneous growth of her heart and soul. 


POCAHONTAS. 


89 


Her mind had not been formed and fed by boobs, or the con- 
versation of the gifted and cultivated ; the nameless graces of 
polished life had not surrounded her from her birth, and created 
that tact in manner and deportment, and becoming propriety in 
carriage and conversation, which all well-bred people, however 
ditfering originally in refinement and delicacy of perception, seem 
to possess in about the same degree ; nor had the coarse forms of 
actual life been, to her eyes, concealed by the elegant drapery 
which civilization throws over them. From her earliest years she 
had been familiar with rude ways of living, uncouth habits, and 
lawless passions. 

Yet she seems to have been, from the first, a being distinct 
from and unlike her people, though in the midst of them. She 
reminds us of a delicate wild-flower, growing up in the cleft of a 
rock, where the eye can discern no soil for its roots to grasp, and 
sustain its slender stalk. We behold her as she came from the 
hands of her Maker, who seems to have created her in a spirit of 
rebuke to the pride of civilization, giving to an Indian girl, reared 
in the depths of a Virginian forest, that symmetry of feminine 
loveliness wdiich we but seldom see, with all our helps and ap- 
pliances, and all that moral machinery with which we work upon 
the raw material of character. 

But in our admiration of what is lovely and attractive in the 
character of Pocahontas, we must not overlook the higher moral 
qualities, which command respect almost to reverence. Moral 
courage, dignity, and independence, are among her most con- 
spicuous traits. Before we can do justice to them, we must take 
into consideration the circumstances under which they were dis- 
played. At the time when the English first appeared in Vir- 
ginia, she was a child but twelve or thirteen years old. These 
formidable strangers immediately awakened in the breasts of her 
people the strongest passions of hatred and fear; and Captain 
Smith, in particular, was looked upon as a being whose powers of 
injuring them were irresistible and superhuman. What could 
have been more natural than that this young girl should have had 
all these feelings exaggerated by the creative imagination of 
childhood; that Captain Smith should have haunted her dreams; 
and that she should not have had the courage to look upon the 
man to whom her excited fancy had given an outward appearance 
corresponding to his frightful attributes ? 

But the very first act of her life, as known to us, puts her far 
above the notions and prejudices of her people, and stamps at 
once a seal of marked superiority upon her character. And from 
8 * 


00 


POCAHONTAS. 


1 


this elevation she never descends. Her motives are peculiar to 
lierself, and take no tinge from the passions and opinions around | i 
her. She thinks and acts for herself, and does not hesitate, when 
thereto constrained, to leave her father, and trust for protection | 
to that respect which was awakened alike by her high birth and! 
hi£yh character among the whole Indian race. It is certainly a 
remarkable combination which we see in her, of gentleness and 
sweetness with strength of mind, decision, and firm consistency I 
f»f purpose, and would be so in any female, reared under the most | 
favorable influences. ; 

The lot of Pocahontas may be considered a happy one, not- ! 
withstanding the pang which her affectionate nature must have i 
felt, in being called so early to part from her husband and child. 

It was her good fortune to be the instrument, in the hand of 
Providence, for bringing about a league of peace and amity be- j 
tween her own nation and the English — a consummation most | 
agreeable to her taste and feelings. The many favors, which she I 
bestowed upon the colonists, were by them gratefully acknow- i 
ledeed, and obtained for her a rich harvest of attentions in Eng- 
land. Her name and deeds have not been suffered to pass out 
of the minds of men, nor are they discerned only by the glim- 
mering light of tradition. Captain Smith has repaid the vast 
debt of gratitude which he owed her, by the immortality which 
his eloquent and feeling pen has given her. Who has not heard 
the beautiful story of her heroism ? and who, that has heard' it, 
has not felt his heart throb quick with generous admiration ? 
She has become one of the darlings of history, and her name is 
as familiar as a household word to the numerous and powerful 
descendants of the feeble folk whom she protected and be- 
friended. 

Her own blood flows in the veins of many honorable families, 1 
who trace back with pride their descent from this daughter of a 
despised people. She has been a powerful, though silent, advo- 
cate in behalf of the race to which she belonged. Her deeds 
have covered a multitude of their sins. When disgusted with 
numerous recitals of their cruelty and treachery, and about to 
pass an unflivorable judgment in our minds upon the Indian cha- 
racter, at the thought of Pocahontas our rigor relents. With 
a softened heart, we are ready to admit that there must have been 
fine elements in a people, from among whom such a being could 
spring. 




PENNSYLVANIA TREATY. 


91 


PENNSYLVxVNIA TREATY. 

In the year 1681, on a day appointed, an innumerable multi- 
tude of Indians assembled near the site of the present city of 
Philadelphia, and were seen with their dark visages and brand- 
ished arms, moving in vast swarms in the depths of the woods, 
which then overshadowed the whole of that now cultivated region. 
On the other hand, William Penn, with a moderate attendance 
of friends, advanced to meet them. He came, of course, unarmed, 
in his usual plain dress, without banners, or mace, or guards, or 
carriages, and only distinguished from his companions by wear- 
ing a blue sash of silk network, and by having in his hand a roll 
of parchment, on which was engrossed the confirmation of the 
treaty of purchase and amity. As soon as he drew near the spot 
where the sachems were assembled, the whole multitude of 
Indians threw down their weapons, and seated themselves on the 
ground in’ groups, each under his own chieftain • and the presiding 
chief intimated to William Penn that the natives were ready to 
hear him. 

Having been thus called upon, he began : The Great Spirit, 

he said, ‘^who made him and them, who ruled the heaven and 
the earth, and who knew the innermost thoughts of man, knew 
that he and his friends had a hearty desire to live in peace and 
friendship with them, and to serve them to the utmost of their 
power. It was not their custom to use hostile weapons against 
their fellow-creatures, for which reason they had come unarmed. 
Their object was not to do injury, and thus provoke the Grejit 
Spirit, but to do good. They were then met on the broad pathway 
of good faith and good will, so that no advantage was to be taken 
on either side, but all was to be openness, brotherhood, and love.^^ 

After these and other words, he unrolled the parchment, and, 
by means of the interpreter, conveyed to them, article by article, 
the conditions of the purchase, and the words of the compact then 
made for their eternal union. Among other things, they were not 
to be molested in their lawful pursuits, even in the territory they 
had alienated; for it was to be common to them and the English. 
They were to have the same liberty to do all things therein 
relating to the improvement of their grounds, and providing sus- 
tenance for their families, which the English had. If any dis- 
putes should arise between the two, they should be settled by 
twelve persons, half of whom should be English and half Indians. 
He then paid them for the land, and made them many presents 
from the mercliandi.-e which had been spread before them. 


GOFFE THE REGICIDE. 


Q“2 


Having done this, he laid the roll of parchment on the ground, 
ohserving again, that the ground should be common to both 
people. He then added, that he would not do as the Marylanders 
did, that is, call them children or brothers only; for often 
parents were apt to whip their children too severely, and brothers 
sometimes would differ; neither would he compare the friendship 
between him and them to a chain, for the rain might sometimes 
rust it, or a tree might fall and break it ; but he should consider 
them as the same flesh and blood with the Christians, and the 
same as if one man^s body was to be divided into two parts. He 
then took up the parchment, and presented it to the sachem, who 
wore a horn in his chaplet; and desired him and the other 
sachems to preserve it carefully for three generations, that their 
children might know what had passed between them, just as if he 
had remained himself with them to repeat it. 

The Indians, in return, made long and stately harangues; of 
which, however, no more seems to have been remembered, but 
that they pledged themselves to live in love with William Penn 
and his children, as long as the sun and moon should endure.^' 
And thus ended this famous treaty; of which Yoltaire has 
remarked, with so much truth and severity, that it^ was the 
only one ever concluded between savages and Christians that was 
not ratified by an oath — and the only one that never was broken.^^ 


GOFFE THE EEGICIHE. 

In May, 1675, six hundred hostile Indians, under Philip, 
appeared at Hatfield, rushing suddenly into the place. Twelve 
unfortified buildings were immediately fired, and several palisaded 
dwelling-houses violently attacked, and bravely defended by a 
few people. Being with difficulty repulsed, the Indians renewed 
the attack on the twelfth of J une with additional forces. Havins: 
laid an ambuscade the preceding night, they comnienced the 
attack at daylight with great spirit. Though warmly opposed, 
they seemed determined on carrying the place. They pressed on 
with the greatest fury. The Americans were on the point of 
giving way, and flying in confusion. At a critical moment, how- 
ever, a reinforcement appeared in the person of a man of vener- 
able aspect, who differed from the rest of the inhabitants in his 
apparel. No one remembered to have seen him before. 

The stranger placed himself at the head of the people, as if he 
had been habituated to the command of armies. His eye kindled 


ESCAPE OF MR. WELLS. 


93 


ns with the enthusiasm of past years, and he issued his directions 
with that air of authority, which one naturally acquires, who 
knows not what it is to be disobeyed. His arrangements for the 
defence of the place evinced a thorough acquaintance with mili- 
tary tactics, and his undaunted coolness and courage in the midst 
of danger served to reanimate the men. Calling upon them to 
follow him, and not even glancing behind to see whether he was 
obeyed, he rushed like a destroying agent upon the foe, who 
regarded him with superstitious amazement, and soon fled pre- 
cipitately. 

As soon as the battle was ended and the Indians had retired, 
the stranger suddenly disappeared, nor could any one tell where 
or how. Who was this brave and mysterious deliverer ? His 
departure had been as abrupt and unaccountable as his coming. 
The good people of Hadley, unable to arrive at any other solu- 
tion, came to the conclusion that he was an angelic auxiliary com- 
missioned by the great Kuler of the universe. His grave and 
noble visage, his air of confident authority, his unshrinking 
courage, activity, and skill, and the mystery which attended the 
circumstance of his appearance — all tended to confirm them in 
this belief. 

It will b'e recollected that, at this time, the two judges, Whalley 
and Gofte, were secreted in the village, at the house of Mr. Russel. 
The supposed angel was then no other than General Gofie, who, 
seeing the village in imminent danger, risked his own safety, 
quitted his place of concealment, assumed the command of the 
inhabitants, and animated them to a vigorous defence. Whalley 
being then superannuated, probably remained in his secluded 
chamber. 


ESCAPE OF MR. WELLS. 

A CASE of individual suffering occurred in this expedition, 
which deserves notice. IMr. Jonathan Wells, of Hatfield, one 
of the twenty who remained in the rear when Turner began his 
march from the Falls, soon after mounting his horse, received a 
shot in one of his thighs, which had previously been fractured 
and badly healed. Another shot wounded his horse. With 
much difficulty. Wells kept his saddle, and, after several narrow 
escapes, joined the main body just as it was separating into diffe- 
rent parties, as has been related. Attaching himself to one that 
was making toward the swamp on the left, and perceiving the 
enemy in that direction, he altered his route, and joined another 
party flying in a different direction. 


94 


ESCAPE OF INIR. WELLS. 


Unable to keep up with the party, he was soon left alone, but 
shortly afterwards fell in with one Jones, who was also wounded. 
The woods being thick, and the weather cloudy, they soon got 
bewildered. Wells lost his companion, and after wandering in 
various directions, accidentally struck Green river, and proceed- 
ing up the stream, arrived at a place since called the Country 
Farms, in the northerly part of Greenfield. Passing the river, 
and attempting to ascend an abrupt hill bordering the shore, he 
fell from his horse exhausted. 

After lying senseless for some time. Wells revived, and found 
his faithful horse still standing patiently by his side. Making 
him fast to a tree, he again lay down to rest himself ; but, find- 
ing he should not be able to remount, he turned the horse loose, 
and, making use of his gun as a crutch, hobbled up the river, 
directly opposite to the course he ought to have taken. His pro- 
gress was slow and painful, and being much annoyed by mosqui- 
toes, he kindled a fire toward night, which soon spread in all 
directions, so that it was with some difficulty he avoided the 
flames. New fears now were suggested. The fire would proba- 
bly guide the Indians to the spot, and he should be sacrificed to 
their fury. Under these impressions he divested himself of his 
ammunition, that it might not fall into their hands; bound up 
his thigh with a handkerchief, and stanched the blood, and com- 
posing himself as well as he could, soon fell asleep. Probably, 
before this, he had conjectured that he was pursuing a wrong 
course, for in a dream he imagined himself bewildered, and was 
impressed with the idea that he must turn down the stream to 
find his home. 

The rising of the sun the next morning convinced him that 
his sleeping impressions were correct — that he had travelled 
from instead of toivard Hatfield, and that he was then farther 
from that place than the Falls, where the action took place. He 
was now some distance up Green river, where the high lands 
closed down to the stream. Reversing his course, he at length 
regained the level interval in the upper part of Greenfield, and 
soon found a footpath which led him to the trail of his retreating 
comrades. This he pursued to Deerfield river, which, with much 
difficulty, he forded by the aid of his gun. Ascending the bank 
he laid himself down to rest, and being overcome with fatigue he 
fell asleep. On awaking, he discovered an Indian making 
directly toward him in a canoe. 

Unable to flee, and finding his situation desperate. Wells pre- 
sented his gun as if in the act of firing, although it was wet and 
filled with sand and gravel. The Indian, leaving his own gun, 


DEATH OF KING PHILIP. 


95 


instantly leaped from his canoe into the water, escaped to the 
opposite shore, and disappeared. .Wells now concluded that he 
should be sacrificed by others, who he knew were but a small 
distance down the river; but determining, if possible, to elude 
them, he gained an adjacent swamp, and secreted himself under 
a pile of driftwood. The Indians were soon heard in search of 
him, traversing the swamp, and passing over the diiftwood; but 
by lyin^ close, the fugitive fortunately avoided discovery, and, 
after they had given up the search and left the place, he con- 
tinued his painful march through Deerfield Meadows. Hunger 
now began to prey upon him, and looking about, he accidentally 
discovered the skeleton of a horse, from the bones of which he 
gathered some animal matter, which he eagerly devoured. He 
afterward found a few bird^s eggs, and some decayed beans, which 
in some measure allayed the cravings of nature, and added to his 
strength. 

Passing the ruins of Deerfield at dusk. Wells arrived the next 
morning at Lathrop’s battle ground, at Bloody Brook, in the 
south part of Deerfield, where he found himself so exhausted, 
that he concluded he must give up farther efforts, lie down, and 
die. But, after resting a short time, and recollecting that he 
was within about eight miles from Hatfield, his resolution re- 
turned, and he resumed his march over pine woods, then smok- 
ing with a recent fire. Here he found himself in great distress 
from a want of water to quench his thirst, and almost despaired 
of reaching home. But, once more rousing himself, he continued 
his march, and, about mid-day on Sunday, reached Hatfield, to 
the inexpressible joy of his friends, who had supposed him dead. 
After a long confinement, Mr. Wellses wound was healed, and he 
lived to an advanced age, a worthy member of the town. 


DEATH OF KING PHILIP. 

It is said that when the Indian chieftain. King Philip, had 
long borne up against a series of miseries and misfortunes, the 
treachery of his followers reduced him to utter despondency. 
The spring of hope was broken ; the ardor of enterprise was 
extinguished : he looked around, and all was danger and dark- 
ness; there was no eye to pity, or any arm that could bring 
deliverance. 

With a scanty band of followers, who still remained true to 
his desperate fortunes, the unhappy Philip wandered back to the 


DEATH OF KING PHILIP. 


96 


vicinity of Mount Hope, the ancient dwelling of his fathers, lie j 
wandered, like a spectre, among the scenes of former power and l 
prosperity, bereft of home, of family, and friends. ^ J 

Even at his last refuge of desperation and despair, a sullen, j 
grandeur gathers around his memory. We picture him to our- I 
selves seated among his care-worn followers, brooding in silence 
over his blasted fortunes, and acquiring a savage sublimity from 
the wildness and dreariness of his lurking-place. Defeated, but 
not dismayed^ crushed to the earth, but not humiliated j he ' 
seemed to grow more haughty beneath disaster, and to experience | 
a fierce satisfaction in draining the last dregs of bitterness. 

Little minds are tamed and subdued by misfortunes ; but great ; 
minds rise above them. The idea of submission awakened the i 
fury of Philip, and he smote to death a follower who proposed an i 
expedient of peace. The brother of the victim escaped, and in i 
revenge betrayed the retreat of his chieftain. 

A body of white men and Indians were immediately despatched 
to the swamp where Philip lay crouched, glaring with fury and 
despair. Before he was aware of their approach, they had begun i 
to surround him. In a little while he saw five of his trustiest j 
followers laid dead at his feet; all resistance was vain; he ! 
rushed forth from his covert, and made a headlong attempt to i 
escape, but was shot through the heart by a renegade Indian of 
his own nation. 

Such was the fate of the brave, but unfortunate King Philip; 
persecuted while living, slandered and dishonored when dead. . 
If, however, we consider even the prejudiced anecdotes furnished 
us by his enemies, we may perceive in them traces of amiable 
and lofty character, sufficient to awaken sympathy for his fate, , 
and respect for his memory. We find, that, amidst all the i 
^ harassing cares and ferocious passions of constant warfare, he was : 
alive to the softer feelings of Connubial Love and Paternal ! 
Tenderness, and to the generous sentiment of Friendship. i 

The captivity of his beloved wife and only son is mentioned I 
with exultation, as causing him poignant misery : the death of 
any near friend is triumphantly recorded as a new blow on his > 
sensibilities ; but the treachery and desertion of many of his j 
followers, in whose affections he had confided, are said to have 
desolated his heart, and to have bereaved him of all farther 
comfort. 

He was a patriot, attached to his native soil ; a prince, true to 
his subjects, and indignant of their wrongs; a soldier, daring in 
battle, firm in adversity, patient of fatigue, of hunger, of every 
variety of bodily suffering, and ready to perish in the cause he 


INDIAN NAMES. 


97 


/ 


bud espoused. Proud of heart, and with an untamable love of 
natural liberty, he preferred to enjoy it among the beasts of 
the forests, or in the dismal and famished recesses of swamps 
4 ind morasses, rather than bow his haughty spirit to submission, 
and live dependent and despised in the ease and luxury of the 
settlements. 

With heroic qualities and bold achievements that would have 
graced a civilized warrior, and have rendered him the theme 
of the poet and the historian, he lived a wanderer and a 
fugitive in his native land, and went down, like a lonely bark, 
foundering amidst darkness and tempest; without a pitying 
eye to weep his fall, or a friendly hand to make a record of his 
struggles. 


INDIAN NAMES. 


“ How can the red men be forp;^ott,en while so many of our States and Territories, Bays, 
Lakes, and Rivers, are inevitably stamped by names of their giving 1” 


t 

• I'. '■< 



1 

I 


t • 
> 

r* 



1. Ye say they all have passed away, 

That noble race and brave, 

That their light canoes have vanished 
From off the crested wave ; 

That midst the forest where they roamed 
There rings no hunter shout, 

But their names are on your waters, 

Ye may not wash it out. 


2. ^Tis where Ontario's billow 

Like Ocean’s surge is curled 
Where strong Niagara’s thunders wake 
The echo of the world. 

Where red Missouri bringeth 
Rich tribute from the West, 

And Rappahannock sweetly sleeps 
On green Virginia’s breast. 



3. Ye say their cone-like cabins. 

That clustered o’er the vale. 

Have fled away like withered leaves 
Before the autumn gale. 

But their memory liveth on your hills 
Their baptism on your shore, 
Your everlasting rivers speak 
Their dialect of yore. 

4. Old Massachusetts wears it, 

" Within her lordly crown. 

And broad Ohio bears it, 

Amidst his young xenown ; 

* D 


1 


98 ARABELLA JOHNSON. 

Cormecticut hath wreathed it 
AVhere her quiet foliage waves, 

And bold Kentucky breathed it hoaj^se 
Through all her ancient caves. 

5. Wachuset hides its lingering voice 

AVithin his rocky heart, 

And Alleghany graves its tone 
Throughout his lofty chart ; 
Monadnock on his forehead hoar 
Doth seal the sacred trust, 

Your mountains build their monument, 
Though ye destroy their dust. 

6. Ye call these red-browed brethren 

The insects of an hour, 

Crushed like the noteless worm amidst 
The regions of their power; 

Ye drive them from their fathers^ lands, 
Ye break of faith the seal, 

But can ye from the court of Heaven 
Exclude their last appeal? 

7. Ye see their unresisting tribes, 

AVith toilsome step and slow, 

On through the trackless desert pass, 

A caravan of woe ; 

Think ye the Eternahs ear is deaf? 

Ilis sleepless vision dim ? 

Think ye the souVs blood may not cry 
From that far land to Him 


ARABELLA JOHNSON. 

Lapy Arabella Johnson was the daughter of the proud 
Earl of Lincoln. She was an exceedingly beautiful girl, and her 
father cherished the hope of seeing her united to a nobleman of 
the first rank. But there had been a different path appointed 
her ; and it seemed not among the least extraordinary incidents 
marking her fortune, that her father consented, notwithstanding 
his ambitious projects, that she should marry Mr. Johnson. He 
was, to be sure, very rich, and connected with families of high 
rank; but he had no title in possession or expectancy. 

Mr. Johnson was naturally of a contemplative character; 
serious in his deportment, with an expression of thought on his 
mild countenance, which people^ who for the first time beheld 


ARABELLA JOHNSON. 


99 


hiin, termed sadness. Yet his heart was warm and frank; and 
when, in intercourse with his friends, he threw off the reserve, 
which proceeded more from excess of feeling than a want of sym- 
pathy with his fellow-creatures, few were so agreeable, or so 
beloved in society, as this amiable man. His wife, the Lady 
Arabella, on the contrary, was of a joyous spirit. It seemed as 
if no blight of sorrow had ever fallen on her, and that she was 
happy because she was innocent. Even the most rigid and 
gloomy Christians never objected to her gayety ; they appeared 
to feel that her gladness proceeded from a guileless heart. 

The pensiveness on her husband^s brow might sometimes seem 
too deeply shadowed, contrasted, as it was, with the sunshine of 
her bright face, to promise perfect congeniality of feeling between 
the pair; but, when they spoke to each other, the hearer was 
instantly aware of the affectionate communion their hearts en- 
joyed. There was a modulation in their voices which love only 
can teach; it was not terms of endearment, — such are easily 
said; it was the manner, the tone, the soft, low-breathed, and, as 
it were, watchful sympathy of tone, always chiming in harmony, 
and making, to the soul of either, that pleasant music, which no 
skill in art, no sound in nature, can equal. 

But the Christian can never live for himself. Mr. Johnson, 
blessed as his lot was, could not feel happy while those pious 
men, whose tenets he respected, were suffering persecution. It 
is true, he sometimes regretted that they should adhere, with 
such unbending pertinacity, to those points of their faith which 
onl}^ regarded ceremonials in religion ; but their firmness, under 
every trial which their vindictive enemies could inflict, gave a 
sacreduess to the suffering cause, which enlisted all his benevo- 
lent feelings in their behalf. 

He had a large estate unencumbered. He had been married to 
the Lady Arabella ten years, but they had no children ; and it 
often occurred to him, that it was his duty to employ his wealth 
in succoring the oppressed Puritans. His own mildness and 
moderation, and the powerful family with which he was con- 
nected, had effectually screened him from the persecutions which 
had followed the obnoxious party he favored. His moderation 
did not proceed from timidity, or love of worldly ease, or indif- 
ference to the cause he had espoused; it was the character of the 
man. He was considerate. 

Such people make less bustle in the w^orld, and, consequently^ 
draw less notice than the ardent and enthusiastic; but they are. 


100 


ARABELLA JOHNSON. 


Botwitlistandincr, the stamina of every successful adventure. 
Such a one will hold on his way when a more fiery spirit is 
broken or subdued 5 and the impetus given to a particular train 
of events by the latter, would soon cease, were not the motion 
continued by the cool perseverance of the former. 

The project of the Puritans, to transport themselves, their 
wives and children, to the new world, and there to remain and 
found a nation, considered only by the light of sober reason, was 
as romantic an undertaking as ever sane men adopted. Some 
were too old to provide for themselves — some were too young to 
render assistance — and many were too poor to procure necessa- 
ries, even for the voyage. But all these must go. No one of 
the brethren, who wished to join the expedition, must be rejected 
because he was old or poor. And their little ones, — could they 
leave them behind ? 

Mr. Johnson's eyes overflowed with tears, and his heart throbbed 
with thick heavings, while he read a letter from one of his friends, 
describing the difficulties they were encountering, to prepare for 
the emigration of the colony. ^^Oh," thought he, ^‘why do I sit 
here ? Why, when God has placed the means in my hands, do I 
not arise, and offer of my substance to assist his servants? And 
why do I not go with them ?" 

He paused, for the thought of his wife came over his mind. 
Could she endure the change ? Ought he to expect it, to wish 
it ? Should her love to him be the means of exposing her deli- 
cate form to the dangers of the sea — the perils of a howling wil- 
derness? Just as he had concluded, that even to think of her 
making such a sacrifice, was a breach of the protection he had 
vowed to her at the altar, she entered the library where he was 
sitting. In tears, my beloved ?" said Arabella, advancing, 
and laying her white hand softly on her husband's shoulder, 
while the smile that could usually chase away all his cares played 
on her lips. But, as he raised his eyes to hers, their deep sorrow 
awed her, and she felt it was no earthly grief that oppressed him. 
She drew closer to him, sat down by his side, took one of his 
hands between hers, and for some minutes kept that silence 
which is the surest sign of deep sympathy. 

But when he had told her the cause why he wept, and read to 
her the letter, it was wonderful to see how the spirit of that 
angelic woman awoke to the perception of all that was in his 
heart. He had spoken nothing of his own thoughts, or wishes. 


ARABELLA JOHNSON. 


101 


or struggles. But she comprehended them in a moment; and 
she felt, at the same time, hnppy that she had at last penetrated 
the cause why his countenance had, for many weeks, worn more 
than its usual pensiveness, and that it was in her power to com- 
fort him — to reconcile him to himself — to aid him in the per- 
formance of his duty. 

Everything was soon arranged, and Mr. Johnson and the Lady 
Arabella joined their names to the list of the emigrants. It is 
no cross to me to forsake the world, if I may only keep by your 
side,^^ whispered Arabella to her husband, while a fashionable 
friend was expatiating on the terrible dangers to be encountered 
in a pilgrimage to America. And all her conduct was framed to 
lessen his uneasiness for her; to take from him every fear that 
her compliance with his wishes was a sacrifice of her inclination ; 
indeed, she seemed to enjoy the thought of assisting him to do 
the good he meditated, as a privilege. 

Mr. Johnson disposed of the bulk of his property in England, 
that he might have the power of aiding those poor pious persons, 
who had hearts, but not means, to join the expedition, lie pro- 
vided comforts for many who had none to help them ; and it was 
chiefly owing to the judicious plans he proposed, and the elficient 
pecuniary aid he was ever ready to furnish, that the embarkation 
of so large a company was etfected. 

In all this he was cheered by the approving smiles of her whom 
he loved more than all the world ; and the more than heroic, the 
Christian fortitude and cheerfulness with which his wife resigned all 
the luxuries and blandishments of her high station, and bent her 
whole heart to aid him in performing what he felt to be his duty, 
infused into his soul a strength, an ardor, a joy, that made every 
labor and sacrifice seem a triumph. At length, they embarked; 
and, during the long passage, the Lady Arabella displayed the 
same unshaken confidence in the success of their expedition. 

The vivacity of her spirits had, it is true, somewhat abated ; 
but it was only the chastened effect which the deep responsibility 
of a design so important as that in which she bad voluntarily 
engaged, would have on a mind so pure and devoted as hers. 
Yet there was nothing in her air like the prim gravity with which 
our imagination is accustomed to invest the Puritans, especially 
the men. She was habitually cheerful. But the most rigid 
among that company would unhesitatingly have pointed her out 
as their example in Christian patience and charity. She was the 
sunbeam on their dark path ; and not only her husband, but all 

9 * 


I 


102 


ARABELLA JOHNSON. 


to whom she was known, regarded her as almost, if not altogether, -r 




an angel. 


They landed at Salem, June 12th, 1630. The condition in 
which ‘they found the colony at that place, was most distressing. 
They had looked on death, and wept over the graves of their 
friends, till the fountain of their tears seemed dried up ; and they . 
had felt, in their despair, that it was better for them to die than ' 
to live. They needed sympathy, aid, comforters. And in those 
who landed they found all these. The Lady Arabella, especially,* 
exerted herself to soothe the mourners, and presented, with her 
own hands, many of those delicacies, which her husband had care- 
fully provided for her, to the sick and debilitated among the set- 
tlers. And many a blessing was invoked on her head, and many 
a prayer was breathed for her preservation. ^ 

But her work was soon done. She was attacked with severe 
pain in her limbs, the consequence of a cold, accompanied by a 
slow fever ; yet she still maintained her cheerfulness, and even 
exhibited increasing interest in the plans then agitating among 
the company, respecting the place where they should make their 
permanent settlement. 

Her mind, during her sickness, which lasted ten days, appeared 
wholly intent on promoting the interests of pure religion ; and, as 
connected with that end, she, like all the colonists, thought the 
settlement of New England essentially necessary. Much of her 
time was passed in conversing with her husband and those about 
her, on the future prospects of the colony. And it afterwards 
mightily encouraged the hearts of those self-exiled people, that 
the Lady Arabella had always, even in the midst of her suffering, 
rejoiced that she had shared in the expedition, and declared her 
conviction, that God vrould prosper them even beyond their hopes. 

The night before she died, she endured much, and her husband 
watched beside her; but towards morning, she insisted he siiould 
retire, and try to sleep. The sun was just rising, and the cool air 
of the morning came fresh from the waters; but it could not 
revive her. The mortal paleness was on her cheek, — and 
her husband saw it; and, for a few moments, he was too much 
overcome to listen to the sweet, comforting words that broke from 
her lips, as if she would impart to his mind a portion of the peace 
that pervaded hers. 




SONG OF THE PILGRIMS. 


103 


SONG OF THE PILGRIMS. 


1. The breeze has swelled the whitening; sail, 
The blue waves curl beneath the gale, 
And, bounding with the wave and wind, 
AVe leave old England's shores behind; 
Leave behind our native shore. 

Homes, and all we loved before. 


2. The deep may dash, the winds may blow, 
The storm spread out its wings of woe, 
Till sailors' eves can see a shroud 
Hung in the folds of every cloud ; 

Still, as long as life shall last, ' 

From that shore we '11 speed us fast. 


3. For we would rather never be. 

Than dwell w'here mind can not bo free. 
But bows beneath a despot's rod 
E'en where it seeks to worship God. 
Blasts of heaven, onward sweep 1 
Bear us o'er the troubled deep 1 


4. 0, see what wonders meet our eyes ! 
Another land and other skies ! 
Columbian hills have met our view ! 
Adieu ! Old England's shores, adieu I 
Here, at length, our feet shall rest. 
Hearts be free, and homes be blest. 


5. As long as yonder firs shall spread 

Their green arms o'er the mountain's head t 
As long as yonder cliff shall stand, 

AVhere join the ocean and the land, — 

Shall those cliffs and mountains be 
Proud retreats for liberty. 


104 DE SOTO’S DISCOVERY AND DEATH. 


DE SOTO’S DTSCOVEIIY AND DEATH. 

All the disasters which had been encountered, fiir from 
diminishing the boldness of the governor, served only to confirm 
his obstinacy by wounding his pride. Should he, who had pro- 
mised greater booty than Mexico or Peru had yielded, now 
return as a defeated fugitive, so naked that his troops were clad 
only in skins and mats of ivy? The search for some wealthy 
region was renewed; the caravan marched still further to the 
west. For seven days, it struggled through a wilderness of 
forests and marshes; and, at length, came to Indian settlements 
in the vicinity of the Mississippi. Soto was the first of Euro- 
peans to behold the magnificent river, which rolled its immense 
mass of waters through the splendid vegetation of a wide alluvial 
soil. The lapse of nearly three centuries has not changed the 
character of the stream; it was then described as more than a 
mile broad; flowing with a strong current, and, by the weight of 
its waters, forcing a channel of great depth. The water was 
always muddy; trees and timber were continually floating down 
the stream. 

The Spaniards were guided to the Mississippi by natives; and 
were directed to one of the usual crossing places, probably at the 
lowest Chickasa Bluff, not far from the thirty-fifth parallel of 
latitude. The arrival of the strangers awakened curiosity and 
fear. A multitude of people from the western banks of the river, 
painted and gayly decorated with great plumes of white feathers, 
the warriors standing in rows with bow and arrows in their hands, 
the chieftains sitting under awnings as magnificent as the artless 
manufactures of the natives could weave, came rowing down the 
stream in a fleet of two hundred canoes, seeming to the admiring 
Spaniards like a fair army of galleys.^’ They brought gifts of 
fish, and loaves made of the fruit of the persimmon. At first 
they showed some desire to offer resistance; but, soon becoming 
conscious of their relative weakness, they ceased to defy an 
enemy who could not be overcome, and suffered injury without 
attempting open retailiation. The boats of the natives were too 
weak to transport horses; almost a month expired, before barges 
large enough to hold three horsemen each, were constructed for 
crossing the river. At length the Spaniards embarked upon the 
Mississippi; and Europeans were borne to its western bank. 

The Dahcota tribes, doubtless, then occupied the country 
southwest of the Missouri; De Soto had heard its praises; he 
believed in its vicinity to mineral wealth ; and he determined to 


DE S0T0\S DISCOVERY AND DEATH. 


105 


visit its towns. Tn ascending the Mississippi, the party was often 
obliged to wade through morasses; at length they came, as it 
would seem, upon the district of Little Prairie, and the dry and 
elevated lands which extend towards New Madrid. Here the 
religions of the invaders and the natives came in contrast. The 
Spaniards were adored as children of the sun, and the blind were 
brought into their presence, to be healed by the sons of light> 
Pray only to God, who is in heaven, for whatsoever ye need,^^ 
said He Soto in reply; and the sublime doctrine which, thousands 
of years before, had been proclaimed in the deserts of Arabia, 
now first found its way into the prairies of the Far West. 

The wild fruits of that region were abundant; the pecan nut, 
the mulberry, and the two kinds of wild plums, furnished the 
natives with articles of food. At Pacaha, the northernmost point 
which He Soto reached near the Mississippi, he remained forty 
days. The spot cannot be identified; but the accounts of the 
amusements of the Spaniards confirm the truth of the narrative 
of their ramblings. Fish were taken, such as are now found in 
the fresh waters of that region ; one of them, the spade-fish, the 
strangest and most whimsical production of the muddy streams 
of the West, so rare, that, even now, it is hardly to be found in 
any museum, is accurately described by the best historian of the 
expedition. 

An exploring party, which was sent to examine the regions to 
the north, reported that they were almost a desert. The country 
still nearer the Missouri was said by the Indians to be thinly 
inhabited ; the bison abounded there so much, that no maize 
could be cultivated; and the few inhabitants were hunters. 
De Soto turned, therefore, to the West and Northwest, and 
plunged still more deeply into the interior of the continent. 
The highlands of White river, more than two hundred miles 
from the Mississippi, were probably the limit of his ramble in 
this direction. The mountains offered neither gems nor gold; 
and the disappointed adventurers marched to the south. They 
passed through a succession of towns, of which the position can- 
not be fixed ; till, at length, we find them among the Tunicas, 
near the Hot Springs and saline tributaries of the Washita. It 
was at Autiamque, a town on the same river, that they passed 
the winter; they had arrived at the settlement through the 
country of the Kappaws. 

In the spring of the following year. He Soto determined to 
descend the Washita to its junction, and to get tidings of the 
sea. As he advanced, he was soon lost amid the bayous and 
marshes which are found along the Led Fiver and its tributaries. 




106 DE SOTO’s DISCOVERY AND DEATH, 

% 

Near the Mississippi, lie came upon the country of Nilco, 
which was well peopled. The river was there larger than the 
Guadalo[uivir at Seville. At last, he arrived at the piovince 
where the M^ashita, already united with the Hed livei, enters 
the Mississippi. The province was called Guachoya. ^ De Soto 
anxiously ino[uired the distance to the sea ^ the chieftain of Gua- 
-t^hoya could not tell. Were there settlements extending along 
the river to its mouth ? It was answered that its lower hanks 
were an uninhabited waste. Unwilling to believe so dishearten- 
ing a tale, De Soto sent one of his men, with eight horsemen, to 
descend the banks of the Mississippi, and explore the country. 
They travelled eight days, and were able to advance not much 
more than thirty miles, they were so delayed by the frequent 
bayous, the impassable cane-brakes, and the dense woods. The 
governor received the intelligence with concern ; he suffered from 
anxiety and gloom. His horses and men were dying around him, 
so that the natives were becoming dangerous enemies. He 
attempted to overawe a tribe of Indians near Natchez, by claim- 
ing a supernatural birth, and demanding obedience and tribute. 

You say you are the child of the sun,^^ replied the undaunted 
chief ; dry up the river, and I will believe you. Do you desire 
to see me ? Visit the town where I dwell. If you come in 
peace, I will receive you with special good-will ; if in war, I will 
not shrink one foot back.^^ But De Soto was no longer able to 
abate the confidence, or punish the temerity of the natives. His 
stubborn pride was changed by long disappointments into a wast- 
ing melancholy } and his health sunk rapidly and entirely under 
a conflict of emotions. A malignant fever ensued, during which 
he had little comfort, and was neither visited nor attended as the 
last hours of life demand. Believing his death near at hand, he 
held the last solemn interview with his faithful followers ; and, 
yielding to the wishes of his companions, who obeyed him to the 
end, he named a successor. On the next day he died. Thus 
perished Ferdinand De Soto, the Governor of Cuba, the success- 
ful associate of Pizarro. His miserable end was the more 
observed, from the greatness of his former prosperity. His sol- 
diers pronounced his e^Jogy by grieving for their loss; the 
priests chanted over his body the first requiems that were ever 
heard on the waters of the Mississippi. To conceal his death, his 
body was wrapped in a mantle, and, in the stillness of midnight, 
was silently sunk in the middle of the stream. The discoverer 
of the Mississippi slept beneath its waters. He had crossed a 
large part of the continent in search of gold, and found nothing 
so remarkable as his burial-place. 


READING EXERCISES 


ILLUSTRATING THE SECOND ERA. 


THE RIFLEMAN OF CHIPPEWA. 

At the time of the French and Indian wars, the American 
army was encamped on the plains of Chippewa. Col. St. Clair, 
the commander, was a bold and meritorious officer* but there 
was mixed with his bravery a large share of rashness or indiscre- 
tion. Ilis rashness in this case consisted in encamping upon an 
open plain beside a thick wood, from which an Indian scout 
could easily pick off his outposts without being himself exposed, 
in the least, to the fire of the sentinel. 

Five nights had passed, and every night he had been surprised 
by the disappearance of a sentry, who stood at a lonely post in 
the vicinity of the forest. These repeated disasters had struck 
such a dread into the breasts of the remaining soldiers, that no 
one would volunteer to take the post, and the commander, know- 
ing it would be throwing away their lives — let it stand unoccu- 
pied for a night or two. 

At length a rifleman of the Virginia corps volunteered his ser- 
vices. He was told the danger of the duty, but he laughed at 
the fears of his comrades, saying he would return safe, to drink 
the health of his commander in the morning. The guard 
marched up soon after, and he shouldered his rifle, and fell in. 
He arrived at his bounds, and, bidding his fellow-sentinels 
good-night,^ ^ assumed the duties of his post. 

The night was dark, from the thick clouds that overspread the 
firmament. No star shone on the sentinel as he paced his lonely 
path, and naught was heard but the mournful hoot of the owl, as 
she raised her nightly wail from the withered branch of the 
venerable oak. At length, a low rustling among the bushes on 
the right, caught his ear. He gazed long toward the spot whence 
the sound seemed lo proceed, but saw nothing save the impene- 
trable gloom of the thick forest which surrounded the encamp- 


108 


THE RIFLEMAN OF CHIPPEWA. 


ment. Then, as he marched onward, he heard the joyful cry of 
All’s well,” after which he seated himself upon a stump, and 
fell into a reverie. While he thus sat, a savage entered the open 
space behind, and, after buckling his tunic, with its numerous 
folds, tight around his body, drew over his head the skin of a j 
wild boar, with the natural appendages of those animals. Thus f 
accoutred, he walked past the soldier, who, seeing the object . 
approach, quickly stood upon his guard. But a well-known 
grunt eased his fears, and he suffered it to pass, it being too dark 
for any one to discover the cheat. , The beast, as it appeared to 
be, quietly sought the thicket to the left; it was nearly out of * 
sight, when, through a sudden break in the clouds, the moon i 
slione bright upon it. The soldier then perceived the orna- i 
mented moccasin of an Indian, and quick as thought, prepared 
to fire. But, fearing lest he might be mistaken, and thus need- 
lessly alarm the camp, and also supposing, if he were right,^ that 
other savages would be near at hand, he refrained, and having a 
perfect knWledge of Indian subtlety and craft, quickly took off ■ 
his coat and cap, and, after hanging them on the stump where 
he had reclined, secured his rifie, and softly groped his way 
toward the thicket. He had barely reached it, when the whiz- 
zing of an arrow passed his head, and told him of the danger he 
had so narrowly escaped. 

Turning his eyes toward a small spot of cleared land within 
the thicket, he perceived a dozen of the same animals sitting on 
their hind legs, instead of feeding on the acorns, which, at this 
season, lay plentifully upon the surface of the leaves ; and, listen- 
ing attentively, he heard them conversing in the Iroquois tongue. 
The substance of their conversation was, that if the sentinel 
should not discover them, the next evening, as soon as the moon 
should afford them sufficient light for their operations, they would 
make an attack upon the American camp. They then quitted 
their rendezvous, and soon their tall forms were lost in the gloom 
of the forest. The soldier now returned to his post, and found 
the arrow sunk deep in the stump, it having passed through the 
breast of his coat. 

He directly returned to the encampment, and desired the 
orderly at the marquee to inform the commander of his wish to 
speak with him, having information of importance to communi- 
cate. He was admitted, and, having been heard, the colonel 
bestowed on him the vacant post of lieutenant of the corps, and 
directed him to be ready, with a picket-guard, to march at eight 
o’clock in the evening to the spot he had occupied the night 
before, where he was to place his hat and coat upon the stump, 


CATTURE OF JAMES SMITH. 


109 


and then lie in* ambush for the intruders. Accordingly, the party 
proceeded, and obeyed the colonel’s orders. The moon rose, but 
shone dimly through the thick branches of the forest. 

While the new lieutenant was waiting the result of this manmu- 
vre, an arrow whizzed from the same quarter as before. The 
mock soldier fell on his face. A dozen subdued voices sounded 
from within the thicket, which were soon followed by the sudden 
appearance of the Indians themselves. They barely reached the 
stump, when our hero gave the order to fire, and the whole band 
were stretched dead upon the plain. After stripping them of 
their arms and trappings, the Americans returned to the camp. 

Twelve chiefs fell at the destructive fire of the white men, and ' 
their fall was, undoubtedly, one great cause of the French and 
Indian wars with the English. The fortunate rifleman, who had 
originated and conducted the ambuscade, returned from the war, 
at its termination, with a competency. lie was not again heard 
of, until the parent-country raised her arm against the infant 
colonies. Then was seen, at the head of a band of "Virginia rifle- 
men, our hero as the brave and gallant Colonel Morgan. 


CAPTURE OF JAMES SMITH. 

In the spring of the year 1755, James Smith, then a youth 
of eighteen, accompanied a party of three hundred men from the 
frontiers of Pennsylvania, who advanced in front of Braddock’s 
army for the purpose of opening a road over the mountain. 
When within a few miles of the Bedford Springs, he was sent 
back to the rear, to hasten the progress of some wagons laden 
with provisions and stores for the use of the road-cutters. 

Having delivered his orders. Smith was returning in company 
with another young man, when they were suddenly fired upon 
by a party of three Indians from a cedar thicket, which skirted 
the road. Smith’s companion was killed on the spot; and, 
although he himself was unhurt, yet his horse was so much 
friglitened by the flash and report of the guns, as to become 
totally unmanageable, and, after a few plunges, threw him with 
violence to the ground. Before he could recover his feet, the 
Indians sprung upon him, and, overpowering his resistance, 
secured him as a prisoner. 

One of them demanded in broken English, whether more 
^hite men were coming up; and upon his answering in the 
negative, he was seized by each arm, and compelled to run with 
10 


110 


CAPTURE OF JAMES SMITH. 


<i;reat rapidity over tlie inoiintain until niglit^ wlien the small 
party encamped and cooked their supper. An equal share of 
their scanty stock of provisions was given to the prisoner j and, 
in other respects, although strictly guarded, he was treated with 
great kindness. 

On the evening of the next day, after a rapid walk of fifty 
miles, through cedar thickets and over very rocky ground, they 
reached the western side of the Laurel mountain, and beheld at 
a little distance the smoke of an Indian encampment. The 
captors now fired their guns, and raised the terrible sralp-luxUoo. 
This is a long yell for every scalp that has been taken, followed 
by a rapid succession of shrill, quick, piercing shrieks, somewhat 
resembling laughter in its most excited tones. They were 
answered from the Indian camp below, by a discharge of rifles, 
and a long whoop, followed by cries of joy. All thronged out to 
meet the party. 

Smith expected instant death at their hands, as they crowded 
round him. To his surprise, no one offered him any violence. 
They belonged to another tribe, and entertained the party in 
their camp with great hospitality, respecting the prisoner as the 
property of their guests. 

The next morning Smith’s captors continued their march, and 
on the evening of the next day arrived at Fort Du Quesne, now 
Pittsburg. When within half a mile of the fort, they again 
raised the interesting scalp-halloo, and fired their guns as before. 
Instantly the whole garrison was in commotion. The cannon 
were fired, the drums w^ere beaten, and French and Indians ran 
out in great numbers to meet the party, and partake of their 
triumph. Smith was again surrounded by a multitude of savages, 
painted with various colors, and shouting with delight; but 
their demeanor was by no means as pacific as that of the last 
party he had encountered. They rapidly formed in two long 
lines, and, brandishing their hatchets, ramrods, and clubs, called 
upon him to run the gauntlet. 

Never having heard of this Indian ceremony before, he stood 
amazed for some time, not knowing what to do. One of his 
captors explained to him, that he was to run between the two 
lines, and receive a blow from every Indian as he passed. His 
informant concluded the information by exhorting him to run 

his best,” as the faster he ran the sooner the sport would be 
over. ^ 

This truth was very plain ; and young Smith entered upon his 
race with spirit. He was switched very handsomely along the 
lines, for about three-fourths of the distance, the stripes only act- 


CAPTURE OF JAMES SMITH. 


Ill 


ing as a spur to greater exertions, and he had almost reached the 
opposite extremity of the line, when a tall chief struck him a 
furious blow with a club upon the back of the head, and instantly 
felled him to the ground, liecovering himself at once. Smith 
sprang to his feet, and started forward again, when a handful of 
sand was thrown into his eyes, which, in addition to the great 
pain, completely blinded him. He still attempted to grope his 
way through; but was again knocked down and beaten with 
merciless severity. He soon became insensible under such bar- 
barous treatment. 

On recovering his senses, he found himself, beaten to a jelly, 
and unable to move a limb, in the hospital of the fort, under the 
hands of a French surgeon. Here he was soon visited by one 
of his captors, the same who had given him the advice on com- 
mencing the race, and who now inquired, with some appearance 
of interest, if he ‘‘ felt very sore.^^ 

Young Smith replied, that he had been bruised almost to 
death ; and his savage friend assured him that he had merely 
experienced the customary greeting of the Indians to their 
prisoners. 

Smith rapidly recovered, and was soon able to walk on the 
battlements of the fort. On the morning of the ninth of July, 
he observed an unusual bustle. The Indians, armed and 
painted, stood in crowds at the great gate. Many barrels of 
powder, balls, and flints, were brought out to them, from which 
the warriors helped themselves to such articles as they required. 
They were soon joined by a small detachment of French regu- 
lars, when the whole party inarched off together. He soon 
learned that they were proceeding against Braddock, who was 
now within a few miles of the fort. In the afternoon an Indian 
runner arrived, announcing that the battle had not yet ended, 
but that Braddock’ s men had been surrounded and were shot 
down in heaps by an invisible enemy ; that instead of flying at 
once, or rushing upon their concealed foe, they appeared com- 
pletely bewildered, and huddled together in the centre of the 
ring. It was probable that, before sundown, there would not be 
a man of them alive. 

We all know that this anticipation was fully realized in the 
total rout of the British force, with immense slaughter, and the 
death of Braddock himself ; and that the calm resolution and 
military sagacity of the illustrious Washington was here for the 
first time manifested. 


112 


PUTNAM AND THE WOLF. 


PUTNAM AND THE WOLF. 

When General Putnam first moved to Pomfret, in Connecti- 
cut, in the year 1739 , the country was new, and much infested 
with wolves. Great havoc was made among the sheep by a she- 
wolf, which, with her annual whelps, had for several years con- 
tinued in that vicinity. The young ones were commonly de- 
stroyed by the vigilance of the hunters ; but the old one was too 
sagacious to be ensnared by them. 

This wolf, at length, became such an intolerable nuisance, that 
Mr. Putnam entered into a combination with five of his neigh- 
bors, to hunt alternately until they could destroy her. Two, by 
rotation, were to be constantly in pursuit. It was known, that, 
having lost the toes from one foot by a steel trap, she made one 
track shorter than the other. 

By this vestige, the pursuers recognized, in a light snow, the 
route of this pernicious animal. Having followed her to Connec- 
ticut River, and found she had turned back in a direct course 
towards Pomfret, they immediately returned ; and by ten o’clock 
the next morning, the bloodhounds had driven her into a den 
about three miles distant from the house of Mr. Putnam. 

The people soon collected, with dogs, guns, straw, fire, and 
sulphur, to attack the common enemy. With this apparatus, 
several unsuccessful efforts were made to force her from the den. 
The hounds came back badly wounded, and refused to return. 
The smoke of blazing straw had no effect. Nor did the fumes 
of burnt brimstone, with which the cavern was filled, compel her 
to quit her retirement. 

Wearied with such fruitless attempts, (which had brought the 
time to ten at night,) Mr. Putnam tried once more to make his 
dog enter, but in vain * he proposed to his negro man to go down 
into the cavern and shoot the wolf. The negro declined the 
hazardous service. 

Then it was that the master, angry at the disappointment, and 
declaring that he was ashamed of having a coward in his family, 
resolved himself to destroy the ferocious beast, lest she should 
escape through some unknown fissure of the rock. 

His neighbors strongly remonstrated against the perilous enter- 
prise ; but he, knowing that ‘wild animals were intimidated by 
fire, and having provided several strips of birch bark, the only 
combustible material he could obtain, which would afford light in 
this deep and darksome cave, prepared for his descent. 


PUTNAM AND THE WOLF. 


113 


Having accordingly divested himself of his coat and waistcoat, 
and having a long rope fastened around his legs, by which he 
might be pulled back, at a concerted signal, he entered, head 
foremost, with the blazing torch in his hand. 

Having groped his way till he came to a horizontal part of the 
den, the most terrifying darkness appeared in front of the dim 
circle of light afforded by his torch. It was silent as the house 
of death. None but monsters of the desert had ever before ex- 
plored this solitary mansion of horror. 

He, cautiously proceeding onward, came to an ascent, which he 
slowly mounted on his hands and knees, until he discovered the 
glaring eyeballs of the wolf, who was sitting at the extremity of 
the cavern. Startled at the sight of fire, she gnashed her teeth, 
and gave a sullen growl. 

As soon as he had made the necessary discovery, he kicked the 
rope as a signal for pulling him out. The people at the mouth 
of the den, who had listened with painful anxiety, hearing the 
growling of the wolf, and supposing their friend to be in the 
most imminent danger, drew him forth with such celerity, that his 
clothes were torn, and he was severely bruised. 

After he had adjusted his clothes, and loaded his gun with 
nine buck-shot, holding a torch in one hand and the musket in 
the other, he descended a second time. When he drew nearer 
than before, the wolf, assuming a still more fierce and terrible 
appearance, howling, rolling her eyes, snapping her teeth, and 
dropping her head between her legs, was evidently in the atti- 
tude and on the point of springing at him. 

At this critical instant, he levelled and fired at her head. 
Stunned with the shock, and suffocated with the smoke, he imme- 
diately found himself drawn out of the cave. But having re- 
freshed himself, and permitted the smoke to dissipate, he went 
down the third time. 

Once more he came within sight of the wolf, who appearing 
very passive, he applied the torch to her nose ; and, perceiving 
her dead, he took hold of her ears, and then, kicking the rope, 
(still tied round his legs,) the people above, with no small exult- 
ation, dragged them both out together. 


10 * 


114 


EARLY HISTORY OF KENTUCKY. 


EARLY HISTORY OF KENTUCKY. 

Those now alive, who have reached the age of eighty years, 
were born before the first white man entered Kentucky. For 
the English have never displayed the same love of discovery as 
the Spaniards and French, either in North or South America. 
Wherever they have fixed themselves, they remain. A love of 
adventure, an eager curiosity, a desire of change, or some like 
motive, had carried the French all over the continent, while the ' 
Eno;lish colonists continued quietly within their own limits. 

The French missionaries coasted along the lakes and descended 
the Mississippi, a whole century before the Virginians began to 
cross the Alleghany ridge, to get a glimpse of the noble inherit- 
ance, which had remained undisturbed for centuries, waiting 
their coming. It was not till the year 1767, only eight years 
before the breaking out of the revolutionary war, that John Fin- 
ley, of North Carolina, descended into Kentucky for the purpose 
of hunting and trading. 

The feelings of wonder and delight experienced by this early 
pioneer in passing through the rich lands, which were filled with 
deer, buffaloes, and every kind of game, and covered with majestic 
growth of centuries, soon communicated themselves to others. 
Like the spies who returned from Palestine, they declared, The 
land, which we passed through to search it, is an exceeding good 
land They compared it to parks, and gardens, or a succession 
of farms stocked with cattle, and full of birds tame as farm-yard 
poultry. 

Instigated by these descriptions, in 1769, Daniel Boone, a man 
much distinguished for bravery and skill, entered Kentucky. 
And now commenced a series of enterprise, romantic adventure, 
chivalrous daring, and patient endurance, not surpassed in the 
history of modern times. Nothing in, those voluminous tales of 
knight-errantry, which occupied the leisure of pages and squires 
in old baronial days, or in the W averley novels and their train of 
romances of the second class, which amuse modern gentlemen and 
ladies, nothing in these works of imagination, can exceed the reali- 
ties of early Kentucky history. 

hrom 1769 till Wayne’s victory on the Maumee in 1794, a 
period of twenty-five years, Including the whole revolutionary war, 
the people of Kentucky were engaged in Indian warfare, for life 
and home. Surrounded by an enemy far outnumbering them ] 
deadly in hatred, of ferocious cruelty, wielding the same rifle with 
themselves, and as skilful in its use, they took possession of the 


EARLY HISTORY OF KENTUCKY. 


115 - 


couutiy, felled the forest, built towns, laid out roads, and changed 
the wilderness into a garden. 

No man could open his cabin-door in the morning, without 
danger of receiving a rifle-bullet from a lurking Indian ; no woman 
could go out to milk the cows, without risk of having a scalping- 
knife at her forehead before she returned. Many a man returned 
from hunting, only to find a smoking ruin, where he had left a 
happy home with wife and children. 

But did this constant danger create a constant anxiety ? Did 
they live in terror ? Fightings were without ; were fears within ? 
By no means. If you talk with the survivors of those days, they 
will tell you : ^^We soon came to think ourselves as good men as 
the Indians. We believed we were as strong as they, as good 
marksmen, as quick of sight, and as likely to see them, as they 
were' to see us; so there was no use in being afraid of them.’' 
The danger produced a constant watchfulness, an active intelli- 
gence, a prompt decision; traits still strongly apparent in the 
Kentucky character. 

By the same causes, other, more amiable and social qualities, 
were developed. While every man was forced to depend on him- 
self and trust to his own courage, coolness, and skill, every man 
felt that he depended on his neighbor for help in cases where his 
own powers could no longer avail him. And no man could decline 
making an effort for another, when he knew that he might need 
a like aid before the sun went down. Hence we have frequent 
examples of one man risking his life to save that of another, and 
of desperate exertions made for the common safety of the dwellers 
in fort or stockade. 

Can we, then, wonder at the strong family attachments still 
existing in Kentucky ? The remembrance of hours of common 
danger and mutual sacrifice, and generous disregard of self, must 
have sunk deep into the hearts of those earnest men, the early 
settlers. He saved my life at the risk of his own. He helped 
me bring back my wife from the Indians. He shot the man who 
was about to dash out my infant’s brains.” Here was a founda- 
tion for friendships, which nothing can root up. 

^‘Whispering tongues can poison truth ;” but no tongues could 
do away such evidences of true friendship as these. No subse- 
quent coldness, no after injury, could efface their remembrance. 
They must have been treasured up in the deepest cells of the 
heart, with a sacred gratitude, a religious care. And hence, while 
Indian warfare developed all the strongest and self-relying facul- 
ties, it cultivated also all the sympathies, the confiding trust, the 
generous affections, which, to the present hour, are marked on 
the heart of that people’s character. 


116 


DANIEL BOONE. 


PASSAGES IN THE LIFE OF DANIEL BOONE. 

Daniel Boone, the pioneer of Kentucky, was born in Bucks 
County, Pennsylvania, in the month of February, 1735. He was 
the sixth of a family of eleven children. His father. Squire 
Boone, was a native of England. While Daniel was yet a child, 
his father removed to Berks County, Pennsylvania, at that time 
a frontier settlement, abounding with game and exposed to Indian 
assaults. Here young Boone acquired those sylvan tastes which 
shaped the fashion of his future years. But the woodland soli- 
tudes in which he was reared were not entirely deprived of the 
light of knowledge. He received the rudiments of learning in 
one of those little log school-houses which always follow in the 
train of our hardy pioneers of the wilderness. 

When Daniel was about eighteen, his father removed his family 
to North Carolina, and settled on the banks of the Yadkin, a 
mountain stream in the north-west of the state. Here Daniel 
married, and lived for many years, occupying himself with farm- 
ing and hunting, in which latter employment he acquired great 
skill. He was an unerring marksman, capable of great bodily 
exertion, cool in danger, and possessed of all the knowledge which 
a life in the wilderness could teach. 

About the year 1767, rumors came to the region where Boone 
lived, of a country west of the mountains, rich beyond parallel in 
natural advantages — blessed with a deep, fertile soil, watered by 
fair streams, and abounding with game. This was the State of 
Kentucky, at that time a pathless wilderness, into which the foot 
of a white man had hardly entered. The imagination of Boone, 
who had become dissatisfied with the state of things around him, 
was fired by these accounts, and he determined to visit this ter- 
restrial paradise. He accordingly left his home. May 1, 1769, at 
the head of a party of five persons, and turned his face towards 
the setting sun. After a toilsome march of about five weeks, the 
party, after surmounting a mountain range, saw spreading out 
before them a rich and beautiful valley, watered by the Bed 
Biver, covered with stately forests, through which the deer and 
buffalo roamed in great numbers. 

Here the adventurers rested, and passed their time in success- 
ful hunting, without any accident or molestation, till the month 
of December. But on the 22d day of this month, Boone and 
one of his companions, Stewart, were taken captives by a band of 
Indians, who rushed suddenly out of a cane-brake upon them. 
Boone knew the Indian character too well to manifest either fear 


DANIEL BOONE. 


117 


or anxiety to escape. He preserved liis coolness and self-posses- 
sion ; and this caused his savage captors gradually to relax their 
vigilance. 

On the seventh nighty when all Tvere asleep, Boone gently 
awaked Stewart; and the two, securing their guns and a few tri- 
fling articles, left the Indians in a profound slumber, and stole 
away unobserved. Great caution was necessary not to av/ake the 
savages; for, had the attempt of the hunters been discovered, 
they would have been sacrificed on the spot. They made their 
way back to their old hunting camp, but, to their surprise and dis- 
tress, found it plundered and deserted. Of their three com- 
panions nothing was ever after heard : they w^ere probably slain 
by the Indians. Boone and Stewart continued their hunter life, 
and in the course of the winter were joined by Squire Boone, a 
brother of Daniel, and another person, both from North Carolina. 

Not long after, Daniel Boone and Stewart were attacked by 
another band of savages, and the latter was killed. Squire Boone^s 
companion also disappeared afterwards, and the two brothers were 
left alone. They passed the winter in hunting; and on the 1st 
of May, 1770, Squire Boone took leave of his brother and went 
back to North Carolina for supplies. From this time till July 27, 
when his brother returned, Daniel was left entirely alone. The 
two brothers resumed their former way of life, and continued in it 
till the spring of 1771 ; when they went back to their families in 
North Carolina. Daniel Boone had been absent about two years, 
durinsr which time he had tasted neither bread nor salt. He had 

O 

determined to remove his family to Kentucky,; but more than 
two years passed by before he could sell his farm and make the 
necessary arrangements for such a step. 

On the 25th of September, 1773, the two brothers bade adieu 
to their friends and neighbors on the Yadkin, and, with their 
families, took up their march to the wilderness of Kentucky. At 
PowelFs valley, through which their route lay, they were joined by 
live families'and forty men, the latter well armed. They went on 
full of hope and spirit ; but when near the Cumberland Gap, they 
were attacked by a band of Indians, and six of their party were 
killed ; among them the eldest son of Daniel Boonb, a youth of 
about seventeen. By this event the party were discouraged, and 
gave up the further prosecution of the enterprise for the present ; 
returning to some settlements in the south-west of Virginia. 
Boone and his brother, wdth a few others, would have gone on ; 
but a majority being against them, they felt bound to submit. 

The next year, at the request of the governor of Virginia. 
Boone went to Kentucky to bring back a company of surveyors — 


118 


DANIEL BOONE. 


a task wkich lie successfully accomplislied. He then took the 
lead of a company of settlers, by whom the fort of Boonesborough 
was built, in the spring of 1775, on the bank of the Kentucky 
River. In the summer of that yegr he returned to Virginia, and 
succeeded in removing his family to Boonesborough. His wife 
and daughters were the first white women that ever stood on the 
banks of the Kentucky River. Soon after, they were joined by 
three families more; and the opening of the ensuing spring 
brought other emigrants. 

Nothing occurred beyond the usual course of pioneer life till 
the 14th day of July, 1776. On that day Betsey Callaway, her 
sister Frances, and Jemima Boone, a daughter of Captain Boone, 
(such was the title he now bore,) carelessly crossed the river 
opposite Boonesborough, in a canoe, at a late hour in the after- 
noon. The trees and shrubs on the opposite bank were thick, 
and came down to the water’s edge ; the girls, unconscious of 
danger, were playing and splashing the water with their paddles, 
until the canoe, floating with the current, drifted near the shore. 
Five stout Indians lay concealed there, 'one of whom stealthily 
crawled down the bank until he reached the rope that hung from 
the bow, turned its course up the stream, and in a direction to be 
hidden from a view of the fort. The loud shrieks of the cap- 
tured girls were heard, but too late for their rescue. The canoe, 
their only means of crossing, was on the opposite shore, and none 
dared to risk the chance of swimming the river, under the im- 
pression that a large body of savages was concealed in the woods. 
Boone and Callaway were both absent, and night set in before 
their return and arrangements for the pursuit. 

The next morning, by daylight, a party set out. The trail of 
the Indians was struck ; and after travelling about forty miles they 
were overtaken. The great object of the white men was, to come 
upon the Indians so suddenly, that they should have no time to 
kill their prisoners before defending themselves. In this they 
succeeded. In an instant a mutual discovery took place. Shots 
were interchanged ; two of the Indians were wounded, and they 
all fled. The terrified girls were brought back unhurt to the fort. 

The settlements in Kentucky at this time were exposed to con- 
stant assaults from the Indians, instigated by the British forces 
at the north-west forts. Captain Boone’s skill, courage, and 
knowledge of Indian habits, were constantly put in requisition for 
the protection of his countrymen. On one occasion, he went in 
command of a party of thirty men to a salt-lick, on Licking 
River, to manufacture salt. The enterprise was commenced on 
New Year’s day, 1778. Boone was commander, scout, and 


i 


DANIEL BOONE. 


119 


hunter for the party. On the 7th day of February, Boone, when 
engaged in hunting at some distance from the lick, was captured 
by a large band of Indians. Escape being impossible, he assumed 
a tranquil and assured demeanor, which gained him the confidence 
of his captors. Knowing that resistance would be hopeless, he 
induced the saltmakers of his company to surrender, having pre- 
viously obtained favorable terms for them. They were all taken 
to the British fort at Detroit, and his friends were given up to the 
commander as prisoners. 

Liberal sums were offered at Detroit for the ransom of Boone ; 
but the Indians had become so much attached to him, from his 
courage and skill in hunting accomplishments, that they refused 
to part with him. He was finally received into the tribe, and 
adopted by an old chief in the place of a deceased son. Here he 
lived for some months, kindly treated, but still somewhat watched. 
Whenever Jie was allowed to leave the village on a hunting 
excursion, the balls for his gun were carefully counted, and he 
was required to account in game for each ball and charge of pow- 
der. He ingeniously divided a number of balls, with the halves 
of which he could kill turkeys, raccoons, squirrels, and other 
small game, and, by using light charges of powder, he contrived 
to save several charges for his own use, if he should find an 
opportunity to escape. *. 

Early in June, being with the tribe at Chillicothe, in Ohio, 
he perceived that they were making preparations for a warlike 
expedition, and learned that they were going to attack the fort at 
Boonesborough. Dissembling his emotions, he continued a few 
days longer with them, watching his opportunity to escape and 
warn the devoted garrison. On the morning of the IGth of 
June, he arose, and, without suspicion, went forth on his morn- 
ing’s hunt as usual. Contriving to secrete some dried venison, 
he struck through the woods for Boonesborough, a distance of 
one hundred and sixty miles, and reached it at the end of five 
days — a remarkable feat, when we remember that he was obliged 
to shape his course in such a way as to throw the Indians off his 
trail. He was received by his friends as one risen from the dead. 
His wife, despairing of his return, had gone back, with some of 
her children, to her kindred in North Carolina. 

The garrison at Boonesborough employed themselves in 
strengthening their fort, and calmly awaited the attack of their 
foes. But they did not appear till the 7th of September. The 
Indians were four hundred and fifty in number, commanded by 
Captain Duquesne, a Canadian in the service of Great Britain. 
With him were eleven other Canadians. The garrison, compris- 


120 


DANIEL BOONE. 


ing between fifty and sixty men, witli a large miinber of women 1 
and children, was summoned to surrender, in the name of his i 
Britannic majesty.’' Two days were requested by Captain Boone | 
to consider the proposal. This was partly to enable them to col- > 
lect the cattle which were dispersed through the woods, and : 
partly in the hope that aid might come from a neighboring set-J.‘ 
tlement. At the end of the time, the garrison announced their 
determination not to surrender. 

Captain Buquesne, in spite of his greatly superior force, seemed 
reluctant to commence an assault. He proposed that the garri- i 
son should send out a deputation of nine men to discuss the 
terms of a treaty of surrender. After some consultation, this 
was assented to; and Captain Boone and eight other persons 
were selected for the duty. The parties met on a plot of ground 
in front of the fort, and about sixty yards distant. Well aware 
of the treacherous character of the Indians^ Captain Boone, before 
he left the fort, had stationed twenty men with loaded rifies, | 
where they could see the whole proceedings, and be ready for the i 
slightest alarm. Yery favorable terms were offered b}^ the 
besiegers, and agreed to by the representatives of the garrison. 
At the conclusion, the Indians proposed that two of their num- 
ber should shake hands with each of the white men, in com- 

pliance, as*they said, with an ancient custom on such occasions. 
Captain Boone and his associates agreed to this ; and when the | 
Indians approached, each pair grasped the hand and arm of a i 

white man. But the grasp was not relaxed : the red men j 

attempted to drag off their white opponents as prisoners. But [ 
the latter were prepared for this ; a scuffle ensued ; the Ken- 
tuckians broke away from the Indians, and fled back to the fort, 
while a volley from the twenty riflemen checked the pursuers. 
The assault of the fort then commenced in good earnest, and 
continued, with little intermission, for nine days, when the enemy 
retired, baffled in his plans alike of treachery and violence. 

At the disastrous battle of the Blue Licks, in 1782, Boone i 
was present, with the rank of lieutenant-colonel. The action 
was brought on contrary to his advice; but he behaved with 
great courage. In this engagement one of his sons was killed, 
and his brother was severely wounded. 

After the close of the Bevolutionary war, the settlements of 
the whites were not disturbed by any serious attacks of the 
Indians, but there was not entire peace between the two races. 
On one occasion. Colonel Boone was nearly taken prisoner by 
four Indians, who came to his farm. They found him in the 
upper part of a small outbuilding used for drying tobacco. They 


DANIEL BOONE. 


121 


entered the lower part, and calling him by name, told him that 
he was their prisoner, and would cheat them no more, at the 
same time pointing their guns at him. He replied with perfe^it 
coolness, and told them he was willing to go with them, and only 
begged that they would give him a little time, that he might 
finish the work he was engaged in — that of removing sticks of 
dry tobacco. While thus parleying with them, and diverting 
their attention from his purpose, h^> suddenly jumped down 
among them with his arms full of the dried tobaccio, and flung it 
into their faces, filling their mouths and eyes with the pungent 
dust. Under cover of this blinding vofiey, he fled to his cabin, 
where he had the means of defence; and the baffled Indians 
retreated, having learned another of the old hunter’s tricks. 

About 1792, Colonel Boone was dispossessed of his farm at 
Boonesborough, through a defect of title, and removed to Ken- 
hawa river, in Virginia, where he lived for a while. But, hear- 
ing good accounts of the country of the Upper Missouri, he went 
there in 1795, and established liimself about forty-five miles west 
of St. Louis. The country then belonged to Spain, and Boone 
was made syndic, or commandant, of a township ; but the duties 
of his office did not interfere with his customary employments of 
hunting and trapping in the winter season. Having little skill 
in business, and taking no thought for the advancement of his 
own fortunes, he lost, through defect of title, at the transfer of 
Louisiana to the United States, a tract of land which had been 
granted him by the Spanish government; but this loss was 
repaired by Congress, which made a special grant to him of about 
a thousand acres. 

The old age of Boone was passed in a tranquil happiness which 
was in bright contrast with the perilous adventures of his man- 
hood. He lived among his children, the object of affectionate 
care and devoted attention ; and before his death he held 
descendants of the fifth generation upon hi5 knees. Almost to 
the very last, he continued his favorite employment of the chase. 
In his old age, he became a sort of an historical personage ; his 
life and adventures were written and talked about; and many 
persons came to see him and hear his story from his own lips. 
His wife, his faithful and loving companion for more than half a 
century, died in 1813. He survived her a few years, and died 
tranquilly, and by natural decay, September 26, 1820, in his 
eighty-sixth year, in the midst of his children and grandchil- 
dren. He was living at that time in Montgomery county, 
Missouri. 

Boone’s f %me was vigorous and athletic, but in strength and 

11 


122 


DEATH OF GEN. WOLFE. 


stature he was not beyond the average standard of man. There 
was nothing rough, still less fierce, in his manners; but he was 
rather remarkable for the gentleness and quietness of his bearing. 
He was a man of few words, but was always willing to answer 
the questions which curious visitors put to him. Ilis moral 
character was spotless. His affections were strong, and he ten- 
derly loved those who were near to him; to his dying day, he 
never could speak of the son who was killed at the Blue Licks 
without tears. His nature was simple and truthful ; and though 
the incidents of his life have been, by some writers, embellished 
by many romantic fictions, he himself never afforded any mate- 
rials for it. 


DEATH OF GENEEAL ‘WOLFE. 

The eventful night of the twelfth was clear and calm, with no 
light but that of the stars. Within two hours before day-break, 
thirty boats, crowded with sixteen hundred soldiers, cast off from 
the vessels, and floated downward, in perfect order, with the cur- 
rent of the ebb tide. To the boundless joy of the army, Wolfe’s 
malady had abated, and he was able to command in person. His 
ruined health, the gloomy prospects of the siege, 5nd the disaster 
at Montmorenci, had oppressed him with the deepest melancholy, 
but never impaired for a moment the promptness of his decisions 
or the impetuous energy of his action. 

He sat in the stern of one of the boats, pale and weak, but 
borne up to a calm height of resolution. Every order had been 
given, every arrangement made, and it only remained to face the 
issue. The ebbing tide sufficed to bear the boats along, and 
nothing broke the silence of the night but the gurgling of the 
river, and the low voice of Wolfe as he repeated to the oflficers 
about him the stanzas of Gray’s Elegy in a Country Churchyard, 
which had recently appeared, and which he had just received 
from England. Perhaps, as he uttered those strangely appro- 
priate words, — 

“The paths of glory lead but to the grave,” — 

the shadow of his own approaching fate stole with mournful 
prophecy across his mind. Gentlemen,” he said, as he closed 
his recital, I would rather have written those lines than take 
Quebec to-morrow.” 

They reached the landing place in safety — an indentation in 
the shore about a league from the city, and now bearing the name 


DEATH OF GEN. WOLFE. 


123 


of Wolfe^s Cove. Here a narrow path led up the face of the 
heights, and a French guard was posted at the top to defend the 
pass. By the force of the currents, the foremost boats, including 
that which carried Wolfe himself, were borne a little below tho 
spot. The general was one of the first on shore. He looked 
upward at the rugged heights that towered above him in the 
gloom. ^^You can try it,^^ he coolly observed to an officer near 
him; ^^but I donT think youTl get up.^^ 

At the point where the Highlanders landed, one of their cap- 
tains, Donald Macdonald, was climbing in advance of his men, 
when he was challenged by a sentinel. He replied in French, 
by declaring that he had been sent to relieve the guard, and 
ordering the soldier to withdraw. Before the latter was unde- 
ceived, a crowd of Highlanders were close at hand, while the 
steeps below were thronged with eager climbers, dragging them- 
selves up by trees, roots, and bushes. The guard turned out, 
and made a brief though brave resistance. In a moment they 
were cut to pieces, dispersed, or made prisoners; while men after 
men came swarming up the height, and quickly formed upon the 
plains above. Meanwhile the vessels had dropped downward 
with the current, and anchored opposite the landing-place. The 
remaining troops were disembarked, and with the dawn of day 
the whole were brought in safety to the shore. 

The sun rose, and from the ramparts of Quebec the astonished 
people saw the plains of Abraham glittering with arms, and the 
dark red lines of the English forming in array of battle. * * * 

It was nine o^ clock, and the adverse armies stood motionless, 
each gazing on the other. The clouds hung low, and, at intervals, 
warm, light showers descended, besprinkling both alike. The 
coppice and cornfields in front of the British troops were filled with 
French sharp-shooters, who kept a distant, spattering fire. Here ^ 
and there a soldier fell in the ranks, and the gap was filled in 
silence. 

At a little before ten, the British could see that Montcalm was 
preparing to advance, and in a few moments all his troops 
appeared in rapid motion. They came on in three divisions, 
shouting after the manner of their nation, and firing heavily as 
soon as they came within range. In the British ranks, not a 
trigger was pulled, not a soldier stirred ; and their ominous com- 
posure seemed to damp the spirits of the assailants. It was not 
till the French were within forty yards that the fatal word was^ 
given. At once, from end to end of the British line, the muskets 
rose to the level, as if with the sway of some great machine, and 
the whole blazed forth at once in' one crashing explosion. Like 


124 


DEATH OF GEN. WOLFE. 


a ship at full career arrested with sudden ruin on a sunken rock, 
the columns of Montcalm staggered, shivered, and broke before 
that wasting storm of lead. 

The smoke, rolling along the field, for a moment shut out the 
view; but when the white wreaths were scattered on the wind, a 
wretched spectacle was disclosed — men and officers tumbled in 
heaps, columns resolved into a mob, order and obedience gone ; 
and when the British muskets were levelled for a second volley, 
the masses were seen to cower and shrink with uncontrollable panic. 

For a few minutes, the French regulars stood their ground, 
returning a sharp and not ineffectual fire But now echoing 
cheer on cheer, redoubling volley on volley, trampling the dying 
and the dead, and driving the fugitives in crowds, the British 
troops advanced, and swept the field before them. The ardor of 
the men burst all restraint. They broke into a run, and with 
unsparing slaughter chased the flying multitude to the very gates 
of Quebec. Foremost of all, the light-footed Highlanders dashed 
along in furious pursuit, hewing down the Frenchmen with their 
broadswords, and slaying many in the very ditch of the fortifica- 
tions. Never was victory more quick or more decisive. 

In the short action and pursuit, the Frenchmen lost fifteen 
hundred men, killed, wounded, and taken. Of the remainder, 
some escaped within the city, and others fled across the St. 
Charles, to rejoin their comrades who had been left to guard the 
camp. The pursuers were recalled by sound of trumpet; the 
broken ranks were formed afresh, and the English troops with- 
drawn beyond reach of the cannon of Quebec. Bougainville, with 
his detachment, arrived from the upper country, and hovering 
about their rear, threatened an attack ; but when he saw what 
greeting was prepared for him, he abandoned his purpose, and 
withdrew. Townshend and Murray, the only general officers 
who remained unhurt, passed to the head of every regiment in 
turn, and thanked the soldiers for the bravery they had shown : 
yet the triumph of the victors was mingled with sadness, as the 
tidings went from rank to rank that Wolfe had fallen. 

In the heat of the action, as he advanced at the head of the 
grenadiers ^ of Louisburg, a bullet shattered his wrist ; but he 
wrapped his handkerchief about the wound, and showed no sign 
of pain. A moment more, and a ball pierced his side. Still he 
pressed forward, waving his sword and cheering his soldiers to 
the attack, when a third shot lodged deep within his breast. He 
paused, reeled, and staggering to one side, fell to the earth. 
3>rown, a lieutenant of the grenadiers, Henderson, a volunteer, an 
officer of artillery, and a private soldier, raised him together in 


A THRILLING INCIDENT. 


125 


tlieir arms, and bearing him to the rear, laid him softly on the 
grass. 

They asked if he would have a surgeon; but he shook his 
head, and answered that all was over with him. Ilis eyes closed 
with the torpor of approaching death, and those around sustained 
his fainting form. Yet they could not withhold their gaze from 
the wild turmoil before them, and the charging ranks of their 
companions rushing through fire and smoke. See how they 
run,^^ one of the officers exclaimed, as the French fled in confu- 
sion before the levelled bayonets. ^^Who run demanded 
Wolfe, opening his eyes like a man aroused from sleep. ^^The 
enemy, sir,'^ was the reply; ^Hhey give way every where. 
^^Then,^^ said the dying general, ^^tell Colonel Burton to march 
Webb’s regiment down to Charles lliver, to cut off their retreat 
from the bridge. Now, God be praised, I will die in peace,^’ he 
murmured ; and turning on his side, he calmly breathed his last. 


A THRILLING INCIDENT. 

The first settlers of Maine found, beside its red-faced owners, 
other and abundant sources of annoyance and danger. The 
majestic forests, which then waved where now is heard the hum 
of business, and where a thousand villages now stand, were the 
homes of innumerable wild and savage animals. Often at night was 
the farmer’s family aroused from sleep by the noise without, which 
told that Bruin was storming the sheep-pen or the pig-sty, or was 
laying violent paws upon some unlucky calf. 

Often, on a cold, winter evening, did they roll a larger log 
against the door, and with beating hearts draw closer around the 
fire, as the dismal howl of the wolf echoed through the woods. 
The wolf was the most ferocious and blood-thirsty, but cowardly, 
of all ; rarely attacking man, unless driven by severe hunger, and 
seeking his victim with the utmost pertinacity. 

The incident which I am about to relate, occurred in the early 
history of Biddeford. A man who then lived on the farm now 

occupied by Mr. II , was one autumn engaged in felling 

trees at some distance from his house. His little son, eight 
years old, was in the habit, while his mother was busy with 
household cares, of running out into the fields and woods around 
the house, and often going where the father was at work. 

One day, after the frost had robbed the trees of their foliage, 
the father left his work sooner than usual, and started for home 
11 * 


126 


FRANKLIN. 


Just on tlie edge of the forest, he saw a curious pile of leaves ; 
and, without stopping to think what had made it, he cautiously 
removed the leaves ^ when what was his astonishment to find his 
own darling boy lying there sound asleep. It was but the work 
of a moment to take up the little sleeper, put in his place a small 
log, carefully replace the leaves, and conceal himself among the 
nearest bushes, there to watch the result. 

After waiting a short time, he heard a wolf distant howl, 
quickly followed by another and another, till the woods seemed 
alive with the fearful sounds. The howls came nearer, and 
in a few minutes a large, gaunt, savage-looking wolf leaped into 
the opening, closely followed by the whole pack. The leader 
sprung directly upon the pile of leaves, and in an instant scat- 
tered them in every direction. Soon as he saw the deception, 
his look of fierceness and confidence changed to that of the most 
abject fear. 

He shrank back, cowered to the ground, and passively awaited 
his fate ; for the rest, enraged by his supposed cheat, fell upon 
him, tore him in pieces, and devoured him on the spot. When 
they had finished their comrade, they wheeled around, plunged 
into the forest, and disappeared. Within five minutes from their 
first appearance, not a wolf was in sight. 

The excited father pressed his child to his bosom, and thanked 
the kind Providence which led him there to save his dear boy. 
The child, after playing till he was weary, had laid down, and 
fallen asleep ; and in that situation had the wolf found him, and 
covered him with leaves, until he could bring his comrades to the 
feast ; but himself furnished the repast. 


FRANKLIN^ S ENTRANCE INTO PHILADELPHIA. , 

I HAVE entered into the particulars of my voyage, and shall, in 
like manner, describe my first entrance into this city, that you 
may be able to compare beginnings, so little auspicious, with the 
figure I have since made. 

On my arrival at Philadelphia, I was in my working dress; my 
best clothes being to come by sea. I was covered with dirt ; my 
pockets were filled with shirts and stockings ; I was unacquainted 
with a single soul in the place, and knew not where to seek a 
lodging.^ Fatigued with walking, rowing, and having passed the 
night without sleep, I was extremely hungry, and all my money 
consisted of .a Dutch dollar, and about a shilling’s worth of cop- 


FRANKLIN. 


127 


pers, whicli I gave to the boatmen for my passage. As I had 
assisted them in rowing, they refused it at first ; but I insisted on 
their taking it. 

A man is sometimes more generous when he has little, than 
when he has much money ; probably, because, in the first case, ho 
is desirous of concealing his poverty. I walked towards the top 
of the street, looking eagerly on both sides, till I came to Market 
Street, where I met with a child with a loaf of bread. Often 
had I made my dinner on dry bread. I inquired where he had 
bought it, and went straight to the baker’s shop, which he pointed 
out to me. 

I asked for some biscuits, expecting to find such as we had at 
Boston ; but they made, it seems, none of that sort at Philadel- 
phia. I then asked for a threepenny loaf. They made no loaves 
of that price. Finding myself ignorant of the prices, as well as 
of the different kinds of bread, 1 desired him to let me have three- 
penny worth of bread of some kind or other. He gave me three 
large rolls. I was surprised at receiving so much. I took them, 
however, and, having no room in my pockets, I walked on with a 
roll under each arm, eating a third. 

In this manner, I went through Market Street to Fourth 
Street, and passed the house of Mr. Bead, the father of my 
future wife. She was standing at the door, observed me, and 
thought, with reason, that I made a very singular and grotesque 
appearance. 

I then turned the corner, and went through Chestnut Street, 
eating my roll all the way; and, having made this round, I found 
myself again on Market Street wharf, near the boat in which I 
arrived. I stepped into it to take a draught of water ; and, find- 
ing myself satisfied with my first roll, I gave the other two to a 
woman and her child, who had come down with us in the boat, 
and were waiting to continue their journey. 

Thus refreshed, I regained the street, which was now full of 
well-dressed people, all going the same way. I joined them, 
and was thus led to a large Quaker meeting-house near the 
market-place. I sat down with the rest, and, after looking round 
me for some time, hearing nothing said, and being drowsy from 
my last night’s labor and want of rest, I fell into a sound sleep. 
In this state I continued, till the assembly dispersed, when one 
of the congregation had the goodness to wake me. This was, 
consequently, the first house I entered, or in which I slept, at 
Philadelphia. 


128 


BENJAMIN WEST. 


BENJAMIN WEST. 

The celebrated painter Benjamin West was born at Spring- 
field, in Pennsylvania, October 10, 1738. His parents were 
Quakers, and most of the* people of that place were of this sect. 
Many interesting anecdotes have been related of the early years 
of this artist, which show how strong was the natural bent of his 
genius. 

He was only entering his seventh year, when, being left one 
day to watch the infant of his elder sister, which was asleep in 
its cradle, he was detected by his mother, on her return, in an 
attempt — and by no means an unsuccessful one — to make a 
drawing, with pen and ink, of the features of the child. From 
this time, the sketching, in the same simple way, of flowers, 
birds, and such other objects as struck his fancy, was long his 
favorite occupation, to which he would willingly have devoted 
every momenk 

At length, a party of Indians, who paid a visit to Springfield, 
enlarged his stock of colors, which had as yet consisted only of 
black and red ink, by teaching him how to prepare red and yel- 
low ochre; and he soon after supplied himself with brushes from 
the tail and back of a cat. It is said that, up to this period, he 
had never seen a picture or engraving. 

He had been practising his art for about a year, when a Mr. 
Pennington, a merchant from Philadelphia, chanced to come to 
see his father, and was so much surprised and delighted with the 
untutored efforts of the boy, that, on his return home, he sent 
him a box furnished with colors, oils, and brushes, and also a 
few prints. We give the remainder of the story from the Pur- 
suit of Knowledge — 

Benjamin was perfectly enraptured. The true nature of the 
prints he did not suspect at first, the existence of such an art as 
engraving never having .entered his imagination. But, of course, 
he thought them the finest things he had ever seen in his life. 
During the remainder of the evening, he scarcely lifted his eyes 
from his box and its contents. 

Sometimes he almost doubted that he was actually master of 
so precious a treasure, and would take it in his hand merely to 
be assured that it was real. Even after going to sleep, he awoke 
more than once during the night, and anxiously put out his hand 
to the box, which he had placed by his bed-side, half afraid that 
he might find his riches only a dream. 

^^^ext morning, he rose at break of day, and, carrying his 


BENJAMIN WEST. 


129 


colors and canvass to the garret, proceeded to work. Every 
thing else was now unheeded. Even his attendance at school 
was given up. As soon as he got out of the sight of his father 
and mother, he stole to his garret, and here passed the hours in 
a world of his own. 

At last, after he had been absent from school some days, the 
master called at his father’s house to inquire what had become 
of him. This led to the discovery of his secret occupation. His 
mother, proceeding to the garret, found the truant; but so much 
was she astonished and delighted by the works of his pencil, 
which also met her view when she entered the apartment, that, 
instead of rebuking him, she could only take him in her arms 
and kiss him with transports of affection. 

He had made a new composition of his own out of two of 
the engravings, which he had colored from his own feeling of 
the proper tints; and so perfect did the performance already 
appear to his mother, that, although half the canvass yet remained 
uncovered, she would not suffer him to add another touch to 
what he had done. 

Mr. Galt, West’s biographer, saw the picture in the state in 
which it had thus been left, sixty-seven years afterwards; and the 
artist himself used to acknowledge, that in none of his subsequent 
efforts had he been able to excel some of the touches of invention 
in this his first essay.” It was many years after this, however, 
before West emerged from the obscurity of his native village. 

When he was fifteen, he was, at length, taken to Lancaster 
and Philadelphia, under the patronage of some persons of influ- 
ence, who were anxious to foster his talents. In his eighteenth 
year, he set up as a portrait-painter in Philadelphia; and, after 
some time, he proceeded in the same capacity, to New York. 
Means were then found, by his friends, to send him to Italy, 
where he remained, studying and practising his art, for about 
three years. From Italy he went to England, reaching London 
in August, 1763. 

In that country he spent the remainder of his life, and exe- 
cuted all the works upon which his reputation is founded. 
Among these are particularly celebrated, his Heath of General 
Wolfe,” his Last Supper,” his Christ healing the Sick,” and 
his Heath on the Pale Horse.” On the death of Sir Joshua 
Peynolds, in 1791, West was chosen to succeed him as President 
of the Loyal Academy; and to this honorable office he was annu- 
ally re-elected (with the exception of one year) so long as he 
lived. He died on the 11th of March, 1820, in the eighty- 
second year of his age. 


130 


tioonderoga. 


'I 


EXPEDITION AGAINST TICONDEPOGA. 

The catnpaign against Canada^ of 17o8, opened witli great 
apparent spirit. Not only did the hostile incursions of the Cana- 
dian Indians continue very annoying to the frontier settlements^ 
hut the mother country and the colonies alike felt that they had 
much to accomplish to repair the losses and disappointments of 
the two preceding years. Indeed, the repeated failures of Brad- 
dock, and Webb, and Lord Loudon, had chagrined and exaspe- 
rated the nation. 

The elder Pitt even declared in parliament that there appeared 
to be a determination on the part of the officers in command, 
against any vigorous execution of the service of the country ; and 
when, during the same year, the king was remonstrated with on 
appointing so young and rash a madman as Wolfe to conduct the 
meditated expedition against Quebec, the sturdy Brunswicker 
vexedly replied, If he is mad, I hope he will bite some of my 
generals. 

It was under these circumstances that England had determined 
to put forth her whole energies in the three formidable expedi- 
tions this year projected, viz. : against Louisburg, under General 
Amherst ; against Port Du Quesne, on the Ohio ; and the third 
and principal division against Ticonderoga and Crown Point, with 
a view of striking a blow upon Montreal. It is this latter cam- 
paign with which the progress of our story is connected. 

For the prosecution of this high emprise, an army of regular 
troops and provincials was assembled, unprecedented for its num- 
bers in the annals of American warfare. Lord -Loudon having 
been recalled, the command devolved upon General Abercrombie, 
who determined to lead the expedition in person. The rendez- 
vous of the formidable army destined upon this service, was at 
the head of Lake George, or Lake St. Sacrament, as it was 
called by the French, from the remarkable purity and transpa- 
rency of its waters, which were for a long time conveyed to 
France for the services of the Catholic altar. After it came indis- 
putably into the possession of the English, it was baptized anew, 
in honor of the Bruns wickers. 

This lake is thirty-five miles long, with a mean breadth not 
exceeding two. Its elevation is one hundred and sixty feet above 
the waters of Champlain, into which it rushes through a rocky 
strait of two and a half miles at its north-eastern extremity. Its 
location is in the high northern region of New York, embosomed 
deep among the mountains. The summer landscape from its 


TICONDEROGA. 


181 


head is indescribably grand and beautiful. At the distance of 
fourteen miles, the lake turns to the right, stretching off east- 
wardly, and is lost among the mountains. 

The prospect, therefore, resembles a stupendous amphitheatre, 
the mountains composing which rise by steep and precipitous 
acclivities to the height of more than a thousand feet. On the 
right, the French mountain rears its lofty crest, in sullen gran- 
deur, to an elevation of fourteen hundred feet, sloping off gradu- 
ally to the west, until its base is laved by the bright waters of 
St. Sacrament. In some instances the mountain summits are 
bald, and the rocks stand forth from their sides in bold and naked 
relief. 

But for the most part, the heights are covered to their tops 
with deciduous trees and shrubs, plentifully sprinkled with the 
darker shades of the evergreens. At the point where the lake 
takes a more eastern direction, a bay sets up among the hills to 
the north-west, beyond which, as far as vision extends, hills rise 
above hills, surprising for their loftiness, till at length their 
peaked summits are lost in the clouds. 

The bosom of the lake itself is adorned with multitudinous 
little islands, the fresh verdure of which, in summer, being, with 
the surrounding mountains, reflected back with peculiar vivid- 
ness from the pure element, adds greatly to the picturesque effect, 
by thus mingling the beautiful with the rugged and sublime. 
Wild and desolate as this romantic region then was, and yet con- 
tinues, its shores have nevertheless been consecrated with more 
blood than any other spot in America. 

For a long period it was the Thermopylae through which alone 
the French supposed they must pass in their repeated attempts 
upon the extensive and fertile valley of the Hudson. And fierce 
and bloody were the conflicts for its possession. Even to this 
day, in the gloomy solitude of the forest which overshadows the 
Bloody Pond, or among the crumbling ruins of Fort William 
Henry, ‘Hhe spectres of the gallant but forgotten dead; the 
spirits of the Briton and the Haul ; the hardy American and 
the plumed Indian, seem to start up and meet the traveller at 
every step.^^ 

The embarkation took place early on a clear and beautiful 
morning of July. The spectacle was full of life and animation, 
and withal very imposing. The forces collected on the occasion 
numbered seven thousand British troops of the line, and upwards 
of ten thousand provincials, exclusive of the many hundreds of 
non-combatants necessarily in the train of such an army. 

The flotilla for their transportation to Ticonderoga, at the far- 


132 


T I C 0 N D E R 0 G A . 


ther extremity of the lake, consisted of nine hundred batteaux, 
and one hundred and thirty -five whale-boats, together with a suf- 
ficient number of rafts to convey the heavy stores and ammuni- 
tion, and the artillery to cover the landing of the troops, in the 
neighborhood of the works first to be invested. The utmost con- 
fidence of success inspired both officers and men, and all was 
activity and gayety in getting in motion, from the instant the 
reveille started the armed host from their repose at the dawn, 
until the embarkation was complete. 

So sure were all of an easy victory, that they went forth as to 
a grand review, or the pageant of a national festival. A part of 
England’s chivalry was gathered there,^’ of whom was the 
accomplished Lord Howe, distinguished alike for his generosity, 
his gallantry, and his courage. Many other young noblemen, of 
high bearing and promise, were likewise there; together with a 
still greater number of nature’s noblemen, in the persons of New 
England’s hardy sons, both in commission and in the ranks. 

Nor were the spirited colonists of New York unrepresented. 
Their sons, both of English and Dutch descent, sustained a 
generous rivalry in their chivalrous bearing, and evinced an 
equal readiness to ^^rush to glory or the grave,” for the honor of 
their country. These proud-spirited Americans, with the blood 
of freemen ardently running through their veins, neither knew 
nor cared whether they were descended from the Talbots, the 
J ohn of Gaunts, or the Percys ; but their hearts beat as high, 
and their souls were as brave, and their sinewy arms could strike 
as heavy blows, as those who could trace the longest ancestry, or 
wore the proudest crest. 

There, also, was the proud Highland regiment of Lord John 
Murray, with their bagpipes, their tartan breacan, fringed down 
their brawny legs, and their black plumes in their bonnets. What 
an array, and what a splendid armament, for a small and quiet 
lake, sequestered so deep in the interior of what was then a woody 
continent, and imbedded in a wild and remote chasm, among a 
hundred mountains ! 

Who would have supposed that this lonely and inhospitable 
region, where there were nothing but rocks and solitudes, and 
bleak mountains to contend for, would have been the theatre on 
which the disputes between the rival courts of St. James and St. 
Cloud should be decided ; and on which the embattled hosts .of 
Europe, at the distance of a thousand leagues from their respec- 
tive homes, should have joined in the bloody conflict for empire !’^ 

Lord Howe and his suite had not joined the army since the 
removal of the head-quarters to Fort William Henry; but having 


TICONDEROGA. 


133 




readied Fort Edward from Albany on tbe preceding evening, pur- 
posed to take horse early, and ride the remaining ten miles on 
the morning of the embarkation. Emerging from the forest 
intervening between the two fortresses, and breaking suddenly, 
and for the first time, in full view of the St. Sacrament, an hour 
before the sun had peered above the eastern range of the moun- 
tains, he involuntarily checked his impatient steed, now rendered 
more restiff by the din of martial music swelling upon the air in 
advance, and sat motionless, gazing upon the gorgeous splendors 
that flashed around, first burnishing the lofty summits of the 
mountains with gold, and then, by degrees, illumining the whole 
amphitheatre in a blaze of unequalled beauty and brightness. 

The morning being perfectly clear, after the light mists which 
floated gracefully along the sides of the hills had disappeared, the 
sky glowed brighter and purer than many of them had ever seen 
it. ' Before them, at their feet, lay the crystal waters of the lake 
like a mirror of molten silver; the green islands tufted with 
trees, floating, as it were, in the clear element. In the camp, on 
the open esplanade by the shore, was the mustering of troops, 
the hurrying to and fro of the officers, the rattling of armor, the 
neighing of steeds, with all the inharmonious confusion which 
such a scene must necessarily present. 

Beyond, wide spread upon the lake, were the thousand barges, 
shifting and changing places as convenience required, the ban- 
ners of the different regiments streaming gayly in the breeze, 
while the swell of cheerful voices, the rolling of the drums, the 
prolonged and exhilarating notes of the trumpet, as they resounded 
among the mountains, combined to throw over the whole wild 
region an air of enchantment, which bound the ardent military 
amateur as with a spell. 

Indeed, the whole of this memorable passage of Lake St. Sacra- 
ment resembled more the appearance of a grand aquatic gala, or a 
dream of romance, than a chapter of real life. Stretching down 
the lake, the scenery partook of the same wild and glorious cha- 
racter, and every mile of their progress disclosed new objects of 
wonder, or presented fresh sources of delight. 

The tops and shaggy sides of the mountains afforded new phases 
with every turn, while the relative positions of the boats were 
changing continually as they shot forward among the islands stud- 
ding the whole distance of the lake; and hills, rocks, islands, 
every thing, were reflected back, fresh and beautiful as nature 
had made them. It was a day of unmingled pleasure. A fine 
elastic breeze swept through the gorges of the mountains, serving 

12 


134 


TICONDEROGA. 


to brace the nerves, and produce a glow of good feeling, humor, 
and hilarity, which lasted till the setting sun. 

The animal spirits were often cheered and enlivened by favorite 
airs from the well-appointed regimental bands. Wheeling aloft, 
with untiring wing, as if moving with, and watching over the 
armament, were several noble bald-eagles, whose eyries hung on 
the beetling crags, affording to the soldiers a happy presage of 
victory. The bagpipes of the Highlanders would thrill every 
soul in the armada with the pibroch, or an expert bugleman elec- 
trify the multitude by causing the hills and the glens to echo 
with the stirring notes wound from his instrument. 

The effect of the varying and shifting movements of the barges 
among the islands, with their different streamers fluttering in the 
air, now shooting in this direction, and now running in that, was 
exceedingly fine, animating, and romantic. Taking these move- 
ments in connexion with the nodding of plumes, the dazzling 
glitter of polished armor, and the flashing of the oars at every 
stroke as they rose from the sparkling waters, the whole pros- 
pect, seen at a coup d^odlj was of surpassing magnificence. 

Gayest among the gay on this occasion was our friend Captain 
Thorndyke, with his spirited company of rangers, destined to act 
on the right flank. Nor did the healthy buoyancy of spirits 
which prevailed during the voyage perceptibly diminish until the 
laugh and the song, the light joke and the brisk repartee, had 
fairly expended themselves, and the giant shadows of the western 
mountains were thrown far across the lake, softening the inten- 
sity of light, and bringing with them that chastened pensiveness 
which loves to dwell in the shade. 

The landing of the expedition was effected in good order. But 
the particulars of the two days’ fighting that followed, the for- 
midable obstacles which embarrassed their progress, the unex- 
pected odds they were doomed to encounter, the repeated and 
furious onsets, the prodigies of valor performed to no purpose, the 
defeat, the overthrow, and the rout, are matters which we leave 
with the graver and statelier historians, who chronicle dull facts 
to be used as webs in weaving the romance of history. 

Among the higher officers slain, was the truly noble Lord 
Howe, the pride of the army, and a universal favorite, whose 
remains repose in our soil, and to whose memory a cenotaph was 
erected in Westminster Abbey by American generosity. And 
many were the American mothers and daughters who were called 
to mourn the catastrophe of that day. 


A NIGHT ADVENTURE. 


135 


A NIGHT ADVENTURE DURING THE OLD 

FRENCH WAR. 

Should you discover the position of the enemy/^ continued 
Sir William Johnson to Sybrandt, ^^you must depend upon your 
own sagacity, and that of Timothy Weasel for the direction of 
your subsequent conduct. 

Timothy Weasel ! who is he 

What! have you never heard of Timothy Weasel, the Yar- 
mounter, as he calls himself 

Never.^^ 

Well, then, I must give you a sketch of his story before I 
introduce him. He was born in New Hampshire, as he says, 
and in due time, as is customary in those parts, married, and 
took possession, by right of discovery, I suppose, of a tract of 
land in what was at that time called the New Hampshire grants. 
Others followed him, and in the course of a few years a little 
settlement was formed of real 'cute Yankees, as Timothy calls 
them, to the amount of sixty or seventy men, women, and chil- 
dren. They were gradually growing in wealth and numbers, 
when one night, in the dead of winter, they were set upon by a 
party of ■ Indians from Canada, and every soul of them, except 
Timothy, either consumed in the flames or massacred in the 
attempt to escape. I have witnessed in the course of my life 
many scenes of horror, but nothing like that which he describes, 
in which his wife and eight children perished. Timothy was 
left for dead by the savages, who, as is their custom, departed at 
the dawn, for fear the news of this massacre might rouse some 
of the neigliboring settlements in time to overtake them before 
they reached home. When all was silent, Timothy, who, though 
severely wounded in a dozen places, had, as he says, only been 
‘playing 'possum,' raised himself up and looked around him. 
The smoking ruins, mangled limbs, blood-stained snow, and the 
whole scene, as he describes it with quaint pathos, is enough to 
make one's blood run cold. He managed to raise himself upright, 
and, by dint of incredible exertions, to reach a neighboring 
settlement, distant about forty miles, where he told his story, 
and then was put to bed where he lay some weeks. In the 
meantime the people of the settlement had gone and buried the 
remains of his unfortunate family and neighbors. When Timo- 
thy got well, he visited the spot, and while viewing the ruins of 
the houses, and pondering over the graves of all that were dear 
to him, solemnly devoted the remainder of his life to revenge. 


136 


A NIGHT ADVENTURE. 


He accordingly buried himself in the woods, and built a cabin 
about twelve miles from hence, in a situation the most favorable 
to killing the ^ kritters,' as he calls the savages. ^ From that time 
until now he has waged a perpetual war against them, and, 
accordino- to his own account, sacrificed almost a hecatomb to 
the manes of his wife and children. His intrepidity is wonder- 
ful, and his sagacity in the pursuit of this grand object of his 
life beyond all belief. I am half a savage myself, but I have 
heard this man relate stories of his adventures and escapes which 
make me feel myself, in the language of the red-skins, ^ a woman’ 
in comparison with this strange compound of cunning and sim- 
plicity. It is inconceivable with what avidity he will hunt an 
Indian; and the keenest sportsman does not feel a hundredth 
part of the delight in bringing down his game that Timothy does 
in witnessing the mortal pangs of one of these ^ kritters.’ It is 
a horrible propensity : but to lose all in one night, and to wake 
the next morning and see nothing but the mangled remains of 
wife, children, all that man holds most dear to his inmost heart, 
is no trifle. If ever man had motive for revenge, it is Timothy. 
Such as he is I employ him, and find his services highly useful. 
He is a compound of the two races, and combines all the quali- 
ties essential to the species of warfare in which we are now 
engaged. I have sent for him, and expect him here every 
moment.” 

As Sir William concluded, Sybrandt heard a long, dry sort of 

H-e-e-m-m,” ejaculated just outside of the door. That’s he,” 
exclaimed Sir William ; I know the sound. It is his usual 
expression of satisfaction at the prospect of being employed 
against his old enemies, the Indians. Come in, Timothy.” 

Timothy accordingly made his appearance, forgot his bow, and 
said nothing. Sybrandt eyed his associate with close attention. 
He was a tall, wind-dried man, with extremely sharp, angular 
features, and a complexion deeply bronzed by the exposures to 
which he had been subjected for so many years. His scanty 
head of hair was of a sort of sunburnt color; his beard of a 
month’s growth at least, and his eye of sprightly blue never 
rested a moment in the socket. It glanced from side to side, 
and up and down, and here and there, with indescribable rapidity, 
as though in search of some object of interest, or apprehensive 
of sudden danger. It was a perpetual silent alarum. 

Timothy,” said Sir William, ^^I want to employ you to- 
night.” 

H-e-m-m,” answered Timothy. 

Are you at leisure to depart immediately ?” 


r 


A NIGHT ADVENTURE. 137 

What, right 

Ay, in less than no time.^^ 

I guess I am/^ 

a Yery well — that means you are certain.^^ 

I ’m always sartin of my mark/^ 

Have you your gun with you 
The kritter is just outside the door.^' 

And plenty of ammunition 

Why, what under the sun should I do with a gun and no ’ 
ammunition 

^^‘Can you paddle a canoe so that nobody can hear you V* 

Can’t I ? h-e-e-m-m !” 

And you are all ready V’ 

I ’spect so. . I knew you didn’t want me for nothing, and 
so got every thing to hand.” 

Have you any thing to eat by the way ?” 

No ; if I only stay out two or three days, I shan’t want any 
thing.” 

But you are to have a companion.’^ 

Timothy here manufactured a sort of linsey-woolsey grunt, 
betokening disapprobation. 

“I’d rather go alone.” 

“ But it is necessary you should have a companion; this young 
gentleman will go with you.” 

Timothy hereupon subjected Sybrandt to a rigid scrutiny of 
those busy eyes of his, that seemed to run over him as quick as 
lightning. 

“I’d rather go by myself,” said he again. 

“ That is out of the question, so say no more about it. Are 
you ready to go now — this minute ?” 

“ Yes.” 

Sir William then explained the object of the expedition to 
Timothy much in the same manner he had previously done to 
Sybrandt. 

“ But mayn’t I shoot one of these tarnil kritters if he comes 
in my way ?” said Timothy, in a tone of great interest. 

“No; you are not to fire a gun, nor attempt any hostility 
whatever, unless it is neck or nothing with you.” 

“ Well, that’s what I call hard; but maybe it will please God 
to put our lives in danger — that’s some comfort.” 

The knight now produced two Indian dresses, which he 
directed them to put on somewhat against the inclinations of 
friend Timothy, who observed that if he happened to see his 
shadow in the water, he should certainly mistake it for one of 
12 * 


138 


A NIGHT ADVENTURE. 


the tarnal kritters, and shoot himself. Sir William then with 
his own hand painted the face of Sybrandt so as to resemble that j 
of an Indian — an operation not at all necessary to Timothy; his 
toilet was already made ; his complexion required no embellish- 
ment. This done, the night having now set in, Sir William, 
motioning silence, led the way cautiously to one of the gates of 
Ticonderoga, which was opened by the sentinel, and they pro- 
ceeded swiftly and silently to the high bank which hung over 
' the narrow strait in front of the fort. A little bark canoe lay 
moored at the foot, into which Sybrandt and Timothy placed 
themselves flat on the bottom, each with his musket and accou- 
trements at his side, and a paddle in his hand. 

^^Now,^^ said Sir William, almost in a whisper, ^^now, luck be 
with you, boys; remember, you are to return before daylight 
without fail.^^ 

But, Sir William,^^ said Timothy, coaxingly, now, mayrCt 
I take a pop at one of the tarnal kritters, if I meet ’em 

tell you. No !” replied the other; unless you wish to be ; 
popped out of the world when you come back. Away with you, , 
my boys.”^ 

Each seized his paddle ; and the light feather of a boat darted 
away with the swiftness of a bubble in a whirlpool. 

It’s plaguy hard,” muttered Timothy to himself. 

^^What?” quoth Sybrandt. 

^^Why, not to have the privilege of shooting one of these 
varmints.” 

Not another word,” whispered Sybrandt ; we may be over- 
heard from the shore.” 

Does he think I don’t know what’s what ?” again muttered 
Timothy, plying his paddle with a celerity and silence that j 
Sybrandt vainly tried to equal. j 

The night gradually grew dark as pitch. All became of one ^ 
color, and the earth and the air were confounded together in 
utter obscurity, at least to the eyes of Sybrandt Westbrook. Not 
a breath of wind disturbed the foliage of the trees that hung 
invisible to all eyes but those of Timothy, who seemed to see 
best in the daTk ; not an echo, not a whisper, disturbed the dead 
silence of nature, as they darted along unseen and unseeing, at 
least our hero could see nothing but darkness. 

Whisht !” aspirated Timothy, at length, so low that he could 
scarcely hear himself; and after making a few strokes with his 
paddle, so as to shoot the boat out of her course, cowered himself 
down to the bottom. Sybrandt did the same, peering just over 
the side of the boat, to discover if possible the reason of Timothy’s 


A NIGHT ADVENTURE. 


139 


manoeuvres. Suddenly he heard, or thought he heard, the mea- 
sured sound of paddles dipping lightly into the water. A few 
minutes more and he saw five or six little lights glimmering 
indistinctly through the obscurity, apparently at a great distance. 
Timothy raised himself up suddenly, seized his gun and pointed 
it for a moment at one of the lights ; but recollecting the injunc- 
tion of Sir William, immediately resumed his former position. 
In a few minutes the sound of the paddles died away, and the 
lights disappeared. 

What was that whispered Sybrandt. 

The Frenchmen are turning the tables on us, I guess/' 
replied the other. If that boat isn’t going a-spying jist like 
ourselves, I’m quite out in my calculation.” 

What ! with lights ? They must be great fools.” 

It was only the fire of their pipes, which the darkness made 
look like so many candles. I’m thinking what a fine mark these 
lights would have bin ; and how I could have peppered two or 
three of them, if Sir William had not bin so plaguy obstinate.” 
Peppered them! why, they were half-a-dozen miles off.” 
^^They were within fifty yards — the kritters; I could have 
broke all their pipes as easy as kiss my hand.” 

^^'How do you know they were kritters, as you call the In- 
dians?” 

“ Why, did you ever hear so many Frenchmen make so little 
noise ?” 

This reply was perfectly convincing; and Sybrandt again 
enjoining silence, they proceeded with the same celerity, and in 
the same intensity of darkness as before, for more than an hour. 
This brought them, at the swift rate they were going, a distance 
of at least twenty miles from the place of their departure. 

Turning a sharp angle, at the expiration of the time just speci- 
fied, Timotliy suddenly stopped his paddle as before, and cowered 
down at the bottom of the canoe. Sybrandt had no occasion to 
inquire the reason of this action; for, happening to look toward 
the shore, he could discover at a distance innumerable lights 
glimmering and flashing amid the obscurity, and rendering the 
darkness beyond the sphere of their influence still more profound. 
These lights appeared to extend several miles along what he sup- 
posed to be the strait or lake, which occasionally reflected their 
glancing rays upon its quiet bosom. 

‘‘There they are, the kritters,” whispered Timothy exiiltingly; 
“we’ve treed ’em at last, I swow. Now, mister, let me ask you 
one question — will you obey my orders?” 

“ If I like them,” said Sybrandt. 


140 


A NIGHT ADVENTURE. 


% 


(( like or no like. I must be captain for a little time^ at 

leasf . 

have no objection to benefit by your experience. 

Can you play Ingen when you are put to it? 

I have been among them, and know something of their char- 
acter and manners.^ ^ 

^^Can vou talk Ingen ?^^ 

^^NoF^ 

Ah ! your education has been sadly neglected. But come, 
there’s no time to waste in talking Ingen or English. We must 
get right in the middle of these kritters. Can you creep on all- 
fours without waking up a cricket?” 

^^No!” 

Plague on M I wonder what Sir AVilliam meant by sending 
you with me. I could have done better by myself. Are you 
afeared?” 

Try me.” 

^^Well, then, I must make the best of the matter. The krit- 
ters are camped out — I see by their fires — by themselves. I 
can’t stop to tell you every thing; but you must keep close to me, 
do jist as I do, and say nothing; that’s all.” 

^^I am likely to play a pretty part, I see.” 

^^Play! you’ll find no play here, I guess, mister. Set down 
close; make no noise; and if you go to sneeze or cough, take 
right hold of your throat, and let it go downwards.” 

Sybrandt obeyed his injunctions; and Timothy proceeded 
toward the lights, which appeared much farther off in the dark- 
ness than they really were, handling his paddle with such light- 
ness and dexterity that Sybrandt could not hear the strokes. In 
this manner they swiftly approached the encampment, until they 
could distinguish a confused noise of shoutings and hailooings 
which gradually broke on their ears in discordant violence. 
Timothy stopped his paddle, and listened. 

It is the song of those tarnal kritters, the Utawas. They’re in 
in a drunken frolic, as they always are the night before going to 
battle. I know the kritters, for I’ve popped off a few, and can 
sing their songs pretty considerably, I guess. So we’ll be among 
’em right ofl:. Don’t forget what I told you about doing as I do, 
and holding your tongue.” 

Cautiously plying his paddle, he now shot in close to the shore 
whence the sounds of revelry proceeded, and made the land at 
some little distance, that he might avoid the sentinels, whom 
they could hear ever and anon challenging each other. They 
then drew the light canoe into the bushes, which here closely 


A NIGHT ADVENTURE. 


141 


skirted the waters. ^^Now leave all behind but yourself, and 
follow me/^ whispered Timothy, as he carefully felt whether the 
muskets were well covered from the damps of the night; and 
then laid himself down on his face and crawled along under the 
bushes with the quiet celerity of a snake in the grass. 

Must we leave our guns behind whispered Sybrandt. 

Yes, according to orders; but it’s a plaguy hard case. Yet 
upon the whole it’s best; for if I was to get a fair chance at one 
of these kritters, I believe in my heart my gun would go olf clean 
of itself. But hush ! Shut your mouth as close as a powder- 
horn.” 

After proceeding some distance, Sybrandt getting well scratched 
by the briars, and finding infinite difficulty in keeping up with 
Timothy, the latter stopped short. 

Here the kritters are,” said he, in the lowest whisper. 

Where ?” replied the other in the same tone. 

^^Look right before you.” 

Sybrandt followed the direction, and beheld a group of five or 
six Indians seated round a fire, the waning lustre of which cast a 
fitful light upon their dark countenances, whose savage expression 
was heightened to ferocity by the stimulant of the debauch in 
which they were engaged. They sat on the ground swaying to 
and fro, backward and forward, and from side to side, ever and 
anon passing round the canteen from one to the other, and some- 
times rudely snatching it away when they thought either was 
drinking more than his share. At intervals they broke out into 
yelling and discordant songs, filled with extravagant boastings of 
murders, massacres, burnings, and plunderings, mixed up with 
threatenings of what they would do to the red-coat long-knives 
on the morrow. One of these songs recited the destruction of a 
village, and bore a striking resemblance to the bloody catastrophe 
of poor Timothy’s wife and children. Sybrandt could not under- 
stand it, but he could hear the quick suppressed breathings of 
liis companion, who, when it was done, aspirated, in a tone of 
smothered vengeance, ^Mf I only had my gun !” 

^^Stay here a moment,” whispered he, as he crept cautiously 
toward the noisy group, which all at once became perfectly quiet, 
and remained in the attitude of listening. 

Huh !” muttered one, who appeared by his dress to be the 
principal. 

Timothy replied in a few Indian words, which Sybrandt did 
not comprehend ; and raising himself from the ground, suddenly 
appeared in the midst of them. A few words were rapidly inter- 
changed; and Timothy then brought forward his companion,. 


142 


A NIGHT ADVENTURE. 


whom he presented to the Utawas, who welcomed him, and 
handed the canteen, now almost empty. 

My brother does not talk/^ said liniothy. 

^Ms'he dumb?^^ asked the chief of the Utawas.^ 

^^No; but he has sworn not to open his mouth till he has struck 

the body of a long-knife. 

^^Grood,” said the other; ^^he is welcome.'’ 

After a pause he went on, at the same time eyeing Sybrandt 
with suspicion ; though his faculties were obscured by the fumes 
of the liquor he still continued to drink, and hand round at short 
intervals. 

don't remember the young warrior. Is he of our tribe?" 

^^He is; but he was stolen by the Mohawks many years ago, 
and only returned lately." 

^‘How did he escape ?" 

He killed two chiefs while they were asleep by the fire, and 
ran away." 

^^Grood," said the Utawas; and for a few moments sunk into a 
kind of stupor, from which he suddenly roused himself, and 
grasping his tomahawk started up, rushed toward Sybrandt, and 
raising his deadly weapon, stood over him in the attitude of 
striking. Sybrandt remained perfectly unmoved, waiting the 
stroke. 

^^Grood," said the Utawas again; am satisfied; the Utawas 
never shuts his eyes at death. He is worthy to be our brother. 
He shall go with us to battle to-morrow." 

^^We have just come in time," said Timothy. ^^Does the 
white chief march against the red-coats to-morrow?" 

^^He does." 

Has he men enough to fight them r" 

^^They are like the leaves on the trees," said the other. 

By degrees Timothy drew from the Utawas chief the number 
of Frenchmen, Indians, and coureurs de hois, which composed 
the army ; the time when they were to commence their march ; 
the course they were to take, and the outlines of the plan of attack, 
in case the British either waited for them in the fort or met them 
in the field. By the time he had finished his examination, the 
whole party, with the exception of Timothy, Sybrandt, and the 
chief, were fast asleep. In a few minutes after, the two former 
affected to be in the same state, and began to snore lustily. The 
Utawas chief nodded from side to side ; then sunk down like a 
log and remained insensible to every thing around him, in the 
sleep of drunkenness. 

Timothy lay without motion for awhile, then turned himself 


A NIGHT ADVENTURE. 


143 


over, and rolled about from side to side, managing to strike 
against each of the party in succession. They remained fast 
asleep. He then cautiously raised himself, and Sybrandt did the 
same. , In a moment Timothy was down again, and Sybrandt fol- 
lowed his example without knowing why, until he heard some 
one approach, and distinguished, as they came nigh, two officers, 
apparently of rank. They halted near the waning fire, and one 
said to the other in French, in a low tone : 

^^The beasts are all asleep; it is time to wake them. Our 
spies are come back, and we must march. 

Not yet,^^ replied the other ; let them sleep an hour longer, 
and they will wake sober.^^ They then passed on, and when their 
footsteps were no longer heard, Timothy again raised himself up, 
motioning our hero to lie still. After ascertaining by certain 
tests which experience had taught him that the Indians still con- 
tinued in a profound sleep, he proceeded with wonderful dex- 
terity and silence to shake the priming from each of the guns in 
succession. After this, he took their powder-horns and emptied 
them ; then seizing up the tomahawk of the Utawas chief, which 
had dropped from his hand, he stood over him for a moment with 
an expression of deadly hatred which Sybrandt had never before 
seen in his or any other countenance. The intense desire of 
killing one of the kritters, as he called them, struggled a few 
moments with his obligations to obey the orders of Sir William ; 
but the latter at length triumphed, and motioning Sybrandt, they 
crawled away with the silence and celerity with which they came; 
launched their light canoe and plied their paddles with might and 
main. ‘‘The morning breeze is springing up,^^ said Timothy, 
“and it will soon be daylight. We must he tarnal busy.^^ 

And busy they were, and swiftly did the light canoe slide over 
the wave, leaving scarce a wake behind her. As they turned the 
angle which hid the encampment from their view, Timothy ven- 
tured to speak a little above his breath. 

“ It’s lucky for us that the boat we passed coming down has 
returned, for it’s growing light apace. I’m only sorry for one 
thing.” 

“ What’s that ?” asked Sybrandt. 

“That I let that drunken Utawas alone. If I had only bin 
out on my own bottom, he’d have bin stun dead in a twinkling, I 
guess.” 

“And you, too, I (jiiess/^ said Sybrandt, adopting his peculiar 
phraseology; “you would have been overtaken and killed.” 

“Who, I? I must be a poor kritter if I can’t dodge half a 
dozen of these drunken varmints.” 


144 


A NIGHT ADVENTURE. 


A few hours of sturdy exertion brought them at length within 
sight of Ticonderoga, just as the red harbingers of morning 
striped the pale green of the skies. Star after star disappeared, 
as Timothy observed, like candles that had been burning all night 
and gone out of themselvos, and as they struck the foot of the 
high bluff whence they had departed, the rays of the sun just 
tipped the peaks of the high mountains rising toward the west. 
Timothy then shook hands with our hero. 

^^You^re a hearty kritter,^^ said he, ^^and ITl tell Sir William 
how you looked at that tarnal tomahawk as if it had been an old 
pipe-stem. 

Without losing a moment, they proceeded to the quarters of 
Sir William, whom they found waiting for them with extreme 
anxiety. He extended both hands toward our hero, and eagerly 
exclaimed — 

What luck, my lads ? I have been up all night, waiting 
your return.^^ 

Then you will be quite likely to sleep sound to-night,’^ quoth 
master Timothy, unbending the intense rigidity of his leathern 
countenance. am of opinion if a man wants to have a real 
good night’s rest, he’s only to set up the night before, and he 
may calculate upon it with sartinty.” 

Hold your tongue, Timothy,” said Sir William, good-humor- 
edly, ^^or else speak to the purpose. Have you been at the 
enemy’s camp ?” 

Right in their very bowels,’^ said Timothy. 

Sir William proceeded to question, and Sybrandt and Timothy 
to answer, until he drew from them all the important information 
of which they had possessed themselves. He then dismissed 
Timothy with cordial thanks and a purse of yellow boys, which 
he received with much satisfaction. 

^^It’s not of any great use to me, to be sure,” said he as he 
departed; ^^but somehow or other I love to look at the kritters.’^ 

As to you, Sybrandt Westbrook, you have fulfilled the expec- 
tations I formed of you on our first acquaintance. You claim a 
higher pward ; for you have acted from higher motives, and at 
least with equal courage and resolution. His majesty shall 
know of this; and in the mean time call yourself Major West- 
brook, for such you are from this moment. Now go wdth me to 
the commander-in-chief, who must know of what you hfeard and 
saw.” 


THE HEROIC DOG. 


145 


THE HEROIC DOG. 

Call it sagacity, instinct, or by whatever name we please, 
there is a faculty of the brain possessed by some orders of the 
animal creation which is so near akin to reason, that it would 
argue the possession of a considerable amount of critical acumen 
on the part of him who should attempt to say where instinct 
ceases and reason begins. So many well-attested and authentic 
instances of canine intelligence are on record, all going to prove 
that the dog, above all other animals, possesses the power of 
intelligently associating cause and effect, that it would be the 
work of supererogation to advance an argument in favor of his 
reasoning capacity. How far the possession of this power is 
limited by the size of the brain of the individual, is a subject for 
the metaphysicians ; it is enough for our present purpose, that it 
is a generally conceded fact that the mastiff, of all the canine 
species, is the most intelligent and judicious. The Newfound- 
land dog, it is true, exhibits traits of character and mind which 
have rendered him famous ; but for true intelligence and readi- 
ness in time of danger, the mastiff is ever the most reliable. 

The family of Mr. Lybrook, who settled on New River, Giles 
county, Virginia, possessed a large and valuable dog of the mas- 
tiff breed, which did good service on one occasion in saving the 
life of one of his children ; and in doing so, exhibited a degree 
of sagacity which would have been creditable to one of the genus 
homo. Mr. Lybrook’s children — John, a boy of ten or twelve, 
a brother about six, and his sister, of some thirteen years of age 
— were playing one morning, with other children, on the banks 
of New river, when they were surprised by a party of four 
Indians, who succeeded in killing and scalping all but John and 
liis sister. 

On leaving the house, the children were accompanied by the 
dog, who, feeling as desirous as they of a good play spell, ran 
bounding before them toward a bright sunny bank near the river, 
which he knew to be their playground. They were at first dis- 
posed to send him back ; but finding their efforts to that effect 
unavailing, they gave up the attempt, and very fortunately, as it 
afterwards proved. 

AVhen tired of play, the little ones had grouped themselves on 
the bank, and while some were busy in building miniature cabins 
under the roots of a pin-oak, others of the younger ones were 
making sand pies and mud houses nearer the shore, while the dog 
had strayed off, probably on the scent of some small game, 
io 


146 


THE HEROIC DOG. 


While thus situated, and little dreaming of danger, they heard 
a crackling in the hushes, and looked up, expecting to see their 
good-natured canine companion come bounding through the 
underbrush — instead of which, they were horror-struck and ter- 
rified at beholding the painted and otherwise hideous face of an 
Indian peering at them over the top of a shrub-oak which grew 
by the side of the path leading toward their home. Their first 
impulse was to run towards a canoe which lay on the edge of the 
stream, and in which ’they had amused themselves during the 
afternoon, childlike, thinking this their only ark of safety. John 
had presence of mind enough, however, to endeavor to reach 
home by running around another way. This the Indian was 
not satisfied to let him do, and took after him at the top of his 
speed. 

A short distance would, of course, soon have ended the race, 
but for a deep and wide gulley which lay across their path, and 
which, when John came to it, he attempted to leap. It was 
twelve feet wide where he made the attempt, and very deep. 
Any one not flying for his life would have hesitated, perhaps, 
before essaying so great a feat; but John, collecting all his power 
into one tremendous effort, cleared it at a bound, and the Indian- 
not being prepared to follow, he escaped. Meantime, three other 
red-skins had followed the remaining children into the canoe, 
where they were huddled together in an agony of fear, and com- 
menced to kill and scalp them. 

John’s sister, in the confusion, slipped out of the canoe, and 
making good use of her feet, fled down the path towards home. 
The Indian who had pursued John returning from his race at 
this moment, discovered her ere she was out of sight, and started 
in pursuit. Hearing his approaching footsteps, the poor girl 
gave vent to her fears in a series of heart-rending shrieks, which 
rang through the forest, and had the effect to recall the straying 
dog, who came bounding through the wood, and threw himself 
between his young mistress and her pursuer. 

The Indian, not liking his appearance, endeavored to avoid 
him; but, quick as the bolt from Heaven, the faithful animal 
sprang at his throat, and, although he tried to ward his grasp, 
such was the dog’s certainty of spring, that they both went to 
the ground together; and now commenced a series of struggles 
between the Indian and his canine antagonist which were terrific 
to behold — the one pulling, tearing and jerking at his enemy’s 
throat, while the other endeavored in every way to loose his hold 
or to stun him with his war-club. 


THE HEROIC DOG. 


147 


The dog had already received one or two severe blows, when, 
apparently perceiving his disadvantage, he threw himself across 
the body of the Indian in such a manner as to rest partly upon 
his right arm, and thus avoid the blows. This was the result of 
reason. How else could he so effectually shield himself, and still 
maintain his ascendency, as by throwing his body directly under 
the arm which was inflicting the blows, so that they must neces- 
sarily pass over him ? In this position he remained, tugging at 
the throat of his antagonist, until the other Indians, having 
finished their bloody work, drove him off by a heavy blow on his 
head, which nearly deprived him of life. 

His young mistress had escaped, however, and the Indians 
fearing pursuit, hastily gathered up their scalps, and taking their 
wounded comrade upon their shoulders, made all haste to decamp. 
The dog, when he returned to consciousness, managed to crawl 
to the canoe where lay the mutilated bodies of five of the chil- 
dren, and laid himself down beside them, as though determined 
to spend his little remaining strength in watching over and 
shielding them from further injury. 

When the parents, who had been alarmed by John and his 
sister, came to the spot, they found him still at his post, endea- 
voring to recall to life the mangled bodies of his playmates by 
licking their gaping wounds, and exhibiting the most affecting 
evidences of sorrow at his want of success. 

Tenderly and sadly the lifeless remains of the murdered inno- 
cents were removed to the cabins of their respective parents for 
burial, and then and there went up a wail of sorrow from the 
hearts of their poor bereaved relatives, which might have moved 
the pity of the most obdurate and savage red-skin warrior to 
hear. One of the little ones was yet unaccounted for — the 
youngest Lybrook — and search was immediately instituted to 
find his hiding-place. The dog, too, was missing. In the hurry 
and confusion consequent upon the removal of the bodies, no 
note had been taken of his movements, and now he was nowhere 
to be found. When the party returned to the canoe, however, 
they heard his pitiful howl in the adjacent woods, and upon 
going to the spot, they found the still faithful animal by the side 
of the dying boy, who had received a blow on his head which 
fractured his skull, and was stripped of his scalp. Thus had the 
noble mastiff remained true to the last. 


148 


MORGAN^S PRAYER. 


MORGAFS PRAYER. 

In the Presbyterian graveyard at Winchester, Virginia, stands 
an humble slab of little pretension, which the passer-by would ; 
scarcely notice among the many which surround it ; yet it bears 
upon its face a name which every American delights to honor, 
and which is known to every child throughout our land who has | 
ever looked into the page of history. Beneath that stone rests 
the mortal remains of one of America's bravest and noblest war- 
riors — Daniel Morgan. Who has not heard the trump of fame 
sounding in clarion notes the deeds of that noble rifle corps which 
gained such imperishable laurels on the field of Saratoga? 
Where will you find a name so omnipresent on the record of our 
Revolutionary struggle as that of Daniel Morgan ? Who, among 
our heroes, performed such service — yet received such small 
reward? From Braddock's defeat, in the French and Indian 
wars, to the surrender of Cornwallis at the close of the war of 
Independence, he was ever active, and was never tired of doing 
battle for his country and her liberties. 

Born in New Jersey, in 1737, he went to Virginia at an early 
age, and resided there until the period of Braddock's ill-starred 
expedition against Fort Du Quesne, occupying himself alternately 
in farming and waggoning. He enlisted as a private in that 
campaign, and was present under the command of the young 
Colonel Washington at the memorable defeat where the egotisti- 
cal and pompous Briton paid the forfeit of his foolhardiness with 
his life. On the breaking out of the Revolution, he enlisted a 
corps of riflemen and marched to Cambridge, where they united 
with the motley and undisciplined army assembled around Bos- 
ton. He marched across the wilderness of Maine with Arnold, 
and was engaged with that ofiicer in the siege of Quebec, where 
he eminently distinguished himself, and where he was taken 
prisoner. Upon his exchange, he was placed in command of the 
11th Virginia Regiment, in which was incorporated that famous 
rifle corps which he had brought to a state of discipline and effi- 
ciency second to no other corps in the army. At Saratoga, where 
Burgoyne was so signally defeated, and made to succumb to the 
- foe of whom he had entertained such limited ideas, Morgan and 
his corps of riflemen performed an all-important part; yet his 
name was omitted in Gates' report, as were those of several other 
meritorious officers. He went to the South with Gates, and 
served through the whole Southern campaign until the surrender 
of Cornwallis, and the close of the war, released him from service. 


Morgan's prayer. 


149 


and permitted him to retire to the delights of rural life. His 
victory over Tarleton at the Cowpens, in South Carolina, was a 
brilliant affair, and Congress voted him a gold medal. His estate, 
which was situated a few miles from IVinchester, was called 
Saratogaj after the place where he had fought. In 1794, he 
was appointed to command the militia organized to quell the 
Whiskey Insurrection in Western Virginia, and soon after was 
elected a member of Congress. In 1800 he removed to Win- 
chester, where he died two years after, in the 67th year of 
his age. 

In early life, Morgan was dissipated, and guilty of gross blas- 
phemy. He was a noted pugilist and fighter, and was considered 
a wild, reckless young man. When in camp, and in command, 
he was very profane, which led many to suppose that he was an 
infidel, and contemner of Deity ; but the early lessons which had 
been impressed upon his mind in childhood by a pious mother 
had the effect to direct his thoughts at times towards his Creator 

— and under such influences he was a very child in meekness 
and humility. Towards the close of life he professed religion, 
and united himself with the Presbyterian church at Winchester, 
at that time under the pastoral charge of Rev. Mr. Hill. 

Some of the veteran's conversations with this gentleman have 
been recorded, and afford ample evidence that, although Morgan 
was habitually profane and impious, yet there were occasions 
when his soul was evidently touched by a sense of dependence 
upon a higher power, and he was led to throw himself at the 
feet of his God in humble supplication. Ah !" said he, on 
one occasion, people thought that old Morgan was never afraid 

— people said that ^Dan Morgan never prayed.' ITl tell you 
what it is, Daniel Morgan, wicked as he was, has prayed as 
hard and as earnestly as ever a man prayed in this world. 
The night we stormed Quebec, while I was waiting with my 
men in the cold driving storm for the word to advance, I felt 
unhappy; I looked up at the frowning battlements above me, 
and then around upon my handful of men, and felt that the 
enterprise was more than perilous ; I felt that nothing but a mira- 
cle could prevent our being utterly destroyed in a contest where 
we fought at such an immense disadvantage." He went on to 
say that, with such feelings, he stepped aside, and kneeling 
down in the snow alongside an old gun, with the storm beating 
into my face, I poured out my soul in an humble petition to God, 
beseeching him to be my shield and protection in the coming 
struggle — for nothing but an Almighty arm could save me — 

13 * 


150 


Morgan’s prayer. 


and I really and sincerely feel that I owed my safety on that 
occasion to the interposition of Providence and I thought so at 

that time/^ 

At the battle of the Cowpens he had felt afraid to fight the 
famous Tarleton, with his numerous force flushed with success^ 
and had retreated until his men refused to go any further, and 
he was compelled to stand and risk a battle. His little army 
was drawn up in three lines, prepared to meet the foe, who was 
rapidly forming in his front, and while waiting the anticipated 
attack, he trembled for the fate of the day. He knew how much 
depended upon the result, and when he looked upon his own 
small army, composed of such rude material, wretchedly equipped, 
and but poorly disciplined, and his gaze wandered through the 
open forest and rested upon the veteran troops, beautifully 
equipped, and drilled with the utmost precision, with whom he 
was about to contend, his heart failed him, and he retired from 
the field to pray. 

In a quiet and retired dell just back of the spot where his 
reserve was posted, he found a large tree which had been blown 
up by the roots — and, hidden by the branches of this giant of 
the forest, he threw himself upon his knees and offered up a 
heartfelt prayer to Grod, beseeching him to be with him during 
the battle, and give the victo ry to those who were contending 
for their liberties, their homes, and their families. With an 
impulsive force characteristic of his nature, he wrestled with his 
Maker, with an energy of spirit and a power of language scarcely 
to be expected in one so unused to the melting mood.^^ Rising 
from his knees with feelings relieved, and an oppressive weight 
taken from his soul, he returned to the lines, where he cheered 
his men in his own blunt and impulsive manner, and was answered 
by shouts and huzzas, which showed on their parts a determina- 
tion to conquer or die. In a few moments the battle com- 
menced, and raged with tremendous fury. At one time a mis- 
taken order had nearly thrown the victory into the hands of the 
British ; but a sudden and well-executed movement snatched it 
from their grasp, and it remained with the Americans. Tarleton 
left a large portion of his army and all his munitions behind 
him, and fled ingloriously from the field. Ah said Morgan, 
when speaking of this victory, people thought Old Morgan 
never feared ; they thought he was never afraid ; they did not 
know Old Morgan was often miserably afraid.^^ 


THE MOTHER^S TRIAL. 


151 


THE MOTHER^S TRIAL. 

Who has not heard of Logan, ^Hhe white man^s friend — that 
noble specimen of the Indian race, who, by his forbearance, pru- 
dence, and magnanimity, has done so much towards elevating the 
character of the red men to that high standard so forcibly de- 
picted in the works of America’s greatest novelist — Cooper. 
That there may have been, and undoubtedly were, thousands 
among the tribes who inhabited this continent at the period of its 
settlement by the whites, who were actuated and controlled by 
the savage impulses of their naturally brutal and cruel propen- 
sities, there can be no doubt; but these pages give striking evi- 
dence that there were many who were governed by the dictates 
of higher instincts and loftier sentiments than those of passion 
and prejudice. 

In early life Logan lived at a place called Logan’s Spring, in 
Mifflin County, Pennsylvania. The first settler in his immediate 
neighborhood, was William Brown, who afterwards became an 
associate judge for. Mifflin County, a post which he held until his 
death, at the age of ninety. While engaged in looking for a con- 
venient spot upon which to erect his cabin, he visited Logan at 
his camp, accompanied by his brother, and while there, engaged 
in a friendly contest of skill in the use of the rifle with the chief- 
tain. A dollar a shot was the wager for which they contended, 
and when they ceased it was found that Logan was the loser of 
several shots. Going to his cabin, he returned with as many deer 
skins as he had lost dollars, and handed them to the winner, who 
refused to take them, alleging that he w^as his guest, and did not 
come to rob him ; that the bet had been a mere nominal one, and 
he did not expect him to pay it. The chief drew himself up to 
his full height, while a frown of injured dignity darkened his 
brow, and exclaimed — ^^Me bet to make you shoot your best; 
me gentleman, and me take your money if me beat,” and as there 
was no wish to insult him, the winner was obliged to take the 
skins from their host, who would not accept even a horn of 
powder in return. So much for the Indian’s honesty and 
integrity. 

Mrs. Norris, a daughter of Judge Brown, gives some particu- 
lars relating to Logan, which are highly interesting. She says — 

Logan supported himself by killing deer and dressing their 
sldns, which he sold to the whites. He had sold quite a quan- 


152 


THE MOTHER^S TRIAL. 


tity to one De Yong, a tailor, who lived in Ferguson's Yalley, 
below the Gap. Tailors, in those days, dealt extensively in buck- 
skin breeches. Logan received his pay, according to stipulation, 
in wheat. The wheat, on being taken to the mill, was found so 
worthless that the miller refused to grind it. Logan was much 
chagrined, and attempted in vain to obtain redress from the 
tailor. He then took his case before his friend Brown, then a 
magistrate; and on the Judge's questioning him as to the cha- 
racter of the wheat, and what was in it, Logan sought for words 
in vain to express the precise nature of the article with which the 
wheat was adulterated, but said that it resembled in character 
the wheat itself. ^^It must have been cheaty^ said the Judge. 
^^Yoh!" said Logan — ^Hhat very good name for him." A deci- 
sion was given in Logan’s favor, and a writ given to him to hand 
to the constable, which he was told would bring the money for 
the skins. But the untutored Indian — too uncivilized to be dis- 
honest — could not comprehend by what magic this little bit of 
paper would force the tailor against his will to pay for the skins. 
The Judge took down his own commission with the arms of the 
King upon it, and explained to him the first principles and ope- 
rations of civil law. Law good," said Logan; “make rogues 
pay." But how much more efiicient the law which the Great 
Spirit had impressed upon the Indian's heart — to do unto others 
as he ivoidd he done hyl 

When one of Judge Brown's children was just learning to 
walk, its mother happened to express a regret that she could not 
get a pair of shoes to support its first efforts. Logan, who stood 
by, overheard the remark, but apparently paid no attention to it, 
although he had determined in his own mind that the want of 
shoes should not hinder the little girl in her first attempts. Two 
or three days passed, and the remark had been forgotten by all 
save the chieftain, when, happening into their house, he asked 
the mother if she would allow the child to go with him and spend 
the day at his cabin. Mrs. B. could not divine the reason of such 
a request, and all her cautious anxiety was aroused at the idea of 
placing her little cherub in the hands of one whose objects she 
could not penetrate or understand. 

Tlie proposition alarmed her, and without giving a decided 
negative, she hesitated to comply. The matter was left to her 
husband, who urged her to consent, representing the delicacy of 
Logan's feelings, his sensitiveness, and his character for truth and 
plain dealing. With much reluctance, but with apparent cheer- 
fulness, the mother at length complied, although her heart was 


THE MOTHER^S TRIAL. 


153 


filled with anxious forebodings as she saw her little one disappear 
ill the woods in the arms of the chieftain. Slowly passed the sad 
hours away, and the poor mother could do nothing but think of 
her absent one in the hands of a savage warrior, the natural 
enemy of the pale-face. 

As the day drew to a close, she took her station at the window, 
and watched with the most intense anxiety for the return of her 
child ; but hour after hour passed by without bringing any relief 
to her anxious heart. A thousand vague fears and conjectures 
filled her mind with the many tales of Indian barbarity and 
treachery which she had heard, and as the shades of evening 
drew around the landscape, and her little one had not returned, 
she felt that to hear of her death at the hands of the chief would 
be a relief to her overwrought brain. Her husband endeavored 
to calm her agitated feelings, and soothe her into confidence in 
the integrity of Logan — but with little effect ; and it is probable 
that her anxiety would have driven her to go to the cabin of the 
Indian in search of her child. Just after the sun went down, 
however, he made his appearance in the dim twilight, bearing 
the little treasure in his arms, who seemed delighted with her 
conductor, for her little arms were thrown about his neck as he 
bore her along with firm and rapid steps to her home. 

. The mother’s heart leaped with joy as she recognized the per- 
sons of the chief and the child. She sprang from her chair 
where she had passed so many anxious moments, and prepared to 
receive the little one, around whom had been concentrated all her 
maternal feelings all that tiresome, lonely, and weary day. A few 
brief moments, which to her seemed hours, brought the chief to 
the door, where he released the child from its embrace, and set it 
down upon the floor. The mother caught it in her arms, and 
hugged it to her bosom, while the father addressed his thanks to 
the proud and gratifled chief for a pair of beautiful little mocca- 
sins, adorned with beads and all the fancy-work of an Indian’s 
taste, which covered and supported the feet of the little girl. 
During all that day, which had been so tedious and full of anxiety 
to the mother, Logan had been engaged in constructing and 
ornamenting the little gift, by which he intended to show his 
appreciation of the many favors he had received at the parent’s 
hands. 


154 


ST. AUGUSTINE. 


EXPEDITION AGAINST ST. AUGUSTINE. 

In North America, the central colonies of our republic scarce 
knew the existence of war, except as they were invited to aid in 
defending the borders, or were sometimes alarmed at a privateer 
hovering off the coast. The Five Nations, at peace with both 
France and England, protected New York by a mutual compact 
of neutrality. South Carolina, bordering on Spanish Florida; 
New England, which had so often conquered Acadia, and coveted 
the fisheries ; were alone involved in the direct evils of war. 

South Carolina began colonial hostilities. Its governor, James 
Moore, by the desire of the commons, placed himself at the head 
of an expedition for the reduction of St. Augustine. The town 
was easily ravaged ; but the garrison retreated to the castle, and 
the besiegers waited the arrival of heavy artillery. To obtain it, 
a sloop was sent to Jamaica ; but an emissary had already an- 
nounced the danger to Bienville, at Mobile, who conveyed the 
intelligence to the Spanish viceroy; and, when two Spanish 
vessels of war appeared near the mouth of the harbor, Moore 
abandoned his ships and stores, and retreated by land. The 
colony, burdened with debt, pleaded the precedent ^^of great and 
rich countries,^^ and, confident that funds of credit have fully 
answered the ends of money, and given the people a quick circu- 
lation of their trade and cash,^^ issued bills of credit to the 
amount of six thousand pounds. To Carolina, the first fruits of 
war were debt and paper-money. 

This ill success diminished the terror of the Indians. The 
Spaniards had long occupied the country on the Bay of Appa- 
lache; had gathered the natives into towns, built for them 
churches, and instructed them by missions of Franciscan priests. 
The traders of Carolina beheld with alarm the continuous line of 
communication from St. Augustine to the incipient settlements in 
Louisiana; and, in the last weeks of 1705, a company of fifty 
volunteers, under the command of Moore, and assisted by a thou- 
sand savage allies, roamed through the woods by the trading 
path across the Ocmulgee, descended through the regions which 
none but De Soto had invaded, and came upon the Indian towns 
near the fort of St. Mark’s. There seems no reason to doubt 
that the inhabitants spoke a dialect of the language of the Musk- 
hogees. They had already learned the use of horses and of 
beeves, which multiplied without care in their groves. At sun- 
rise, on the fourteenth of December, the bold adventurers 
reached the strong place of Ayavalla. Beaten back from the 


ATTACK ON DEERFIELD. 


155 


assault with loss, they succeeded in setting fire to the church, 
which adjoined the fort. A barefoot friar,^^ the only white 
man, came forward to beg mercy; more than a hundred women 
and children, and more than fifty warriors, were taken and kept 
as prisoners for the slave market. On the next morning, the 
Spanish commander on the bay, with twenty-three soldiers and 
four hundred Indians, gave battle, and was defeated ; but the, 
Spanish fort was too strong to be carried by storm. The tawny 
; chief of Ivitachma compounded for peace with the plate of his 
; church and ten horses laden with provisions. Five other towns 
I submitted without conditions. Most of their people abandoned 
I their homes, and were received as free emigrants into the jurisdic- 
j tion of Carolina. Thus was St. Augustine insulated by the vic- 
I tory over its allies. The Creeks, that dwelt between Appalache 
and Mobile, being friends to Carolina, interrupted the communi- 
cation with the French. The English flag having been carried 
triumphantly through the wilderness to the Gulf of Mexico, the 
savages were overawed ; and Great Britain established a new 
claim to the central forests that were soon to be named Georgia. 

In the next year, a French squadron from the Havana 
attempted revenge by an invasion of Charleston ; but the brave 
William Bhett and the governor. Sir Nathaniel Johnson, inspired 
courage, and prepared defence. The Huguenots, also, panted 
for action. One of the French ships was taken ; and, wherever 
a landing was efiected, the enemy was attacked with such energy 
that, of eight hundred, three hundred were killed or taken 
prisoners. The colonists fought like brave men contending for 
their families and homes. Unaided by the proprietaries, South 
Carolina gloriously defended her territory, and, with very little 
loss, repelled the invaders. The result of the war at the south 
was evidently an extension of the English boundary far into the 
territory that Spain had esteemed as a portion of Florida. 


ATTACK ON DEEEFIELD 

Death hung on the frontier. The farmers, that had built 
their dwellings on the bank just above the beautiful meadows of 
Deerfield, had surrounded with pickets an enclosure of twenty 
acres — the village citadel. There were separate dwelling- 
houses, also fortified by a circle of sticks of timber set upright in 
the ground. Their occupants knew, through the Mohawks, that 
danger was at hand. All that winter, there was not a night but 
the sentinal was abroad ; not a mother lulled her infant to rest, 


156 


ATTACK ON DEERPIELD. 


but knew that, before morning, the tomahawk might crush its 
feeble skull. The snow lay four feet deep, when the clear, 
invigorating air of midwinter cheered the war party of about two 
hundred French and one hundred and forty-two Indians, who, 
with the aid of snow-shoes, and led by Hertel de Eouville, had 
walked on the crust all the way from Canada. On the last night 
in February, a pine forest near Deerfield gave them shelter till 
after midnight. When, at the approach of morning, the unfaith- 
ful sentinels retired, the war party entered within the palisades, 
which drifts of snow had made useless ; and the war-whoop of 
the savages bade each family prepare for captivity or death. The 
village was set on fire, and all but the church and one dwelling- 
house were consumed. Of the inhabitants but few escaped : 
forty-seven were killed ; one hundred and twelve, including the 
minister and his family, were made captives. One hour after 
sunrise, the party began its return to Canada. But who would 
know the horrors of that winter march through the wilderness ? 
Two men starved to death. Did a young child weep from fatigue, 
or a feeble woman totter from anguish under the burden of her 
own offspring, the tomahawk stilled complaint, or the helpless 
infant was cast out upon the snow. Eunice Williams, the wife 
of the minister, had not forgotten her Bible; and, when they 
rested by the way-side, or, at night, made their couch of branches 
of evergreen strown on the snow, the savages allowed her to read 
it. Having but recently recovered from confinement, her strength 
soon failed. To her husband, who reminded her of the house 
not made with hands, eternal in the heavens,^^ ^^she justified Gfod 
in what had happened/^ The mother’s heart rose to her lips, as 
she commended her five captive children, under God, to their 
father’s care ; and then one blow from a tomahawk ended her 
sorrows. She rests in peace,’^ said her husband, and joy 
unspeakable and full of glory.” In Canada, no entreaties, no offers 
of ransom, could rescue his youngest daughter, then a girl of but 
seven years old. Adopted into the village of the praying Indians 
near Montreal, she became a proselyte to the Catholic faith, and 
the wife of a Cahnewaga chief ; and when, after long years, she 
visited her friends at Deerfield, she appeared in an Indian dress ; 
and, after a short sojourn, in spite of a day of fast of a whole vil- 
lage, which assembled to pray for her deliverance, she returned 
to the fires of her own wigwam, and to the love of her own 
Mohawk children. 

There is no tale to tell of battles like those of Blenheim or of 
Ramillies, but only one sad narrative of rural dangers and sorrows. 
In the following years, the Indians stealthily approached towns 


THE GEORGIA COLONY. 


157 


in the heart of Massachusetts, as well as along the coast, and on 
the southern and western frontiers. Children, as they gambolled 
on the beach ; reapers, as they gathered the harvest ; mowers, as 
they rested from using the scythe ; mothers, as they busied them- 
selves about the household, — were victims to an enemy who dis- 
appeared the moment a blow was struck, and who was ever present 
where a garrison or a family ceased its vigilance. 


THE GEORGIA COLONY. 

During his stay in England, Oglethorpe won universal favor 
for his colony, the youngest child of the colonial enterprise of 
England. Parliament continued its benefactions; the king 
expressed interest in a province which bore his name. While 
the jealousy of the maritime powers «n the continent was excited, 
new emigrants continued to be sent from England. The voice 
of mercy reached the Highlands of Scotland ; and a company of 
Gaelic mountaineers, as brave as the bravest warriors of the 
Creek nation, some of them kindred to the loyalists who fell 
victims to their fidelity to the Stuarts, embarked for America, and 
established New Inverness, in Darien, 

Where wild Altama murmured to their woe,’* 

Within a few weeks, a new company of three hundred emi- 
grants, conducted by Oglethorpe himself, whose care of them 
during the voyage proved him as considerate as he was brave, 
ascended a rising ground, not far from Tybee Island, where 
they all knelt and returned thanks to God for having safely 
arrived in Georgia.'^ Among that group was a reinforcement 
of Moravians ; men who had a faith above fear ; whose wives 
and children even were not afraid to die;^^ whose simplicity and 
solemnity, in their conferences and prayers, seemed to revive the 
primitive assemblies, where form and state were not, but Paul, 
tlie tent-maker, or Peter, the fisherman, presided with the demon- 
stration of the Spirit.^^ There, too, were John and Charles 
Wesley, — the latter selected as the secretary to Oglethorpe, the 
former eager to become an apostle to the Indians, — fervent 
enthusiasts, who, by their own confession, were not yet disci- 
plined to a peaceful possession of their souls. That they were 
simple of heart, but yet that their ideas were disturbed,^' was the 
judgment of Zinzendorf. Our end in leaving our native 
country,^ ^ said they, is not to gain riches and honor, but singly 
14 


158 


THE GEORGIA COLONY. 


this — to live wholly to the glory of God.'' They desired to 
make Georgia a religious colony, having no theory hut devotion, 
no ambition but to quicken the sentiment of piety. The refor- 
mation of Luther and Calvin had included a political revolution ; 
its advocates went abroad on the whirlwind, eager to overthrow the 
institutions which time had consecrated and selfishness perverted. 
The age in which religious and political excitements were united, 
had passed away ; with the period of commercial influence fanati- 
cism had no sympathy. Mystic piety, more intense by its aver- 
sion to the theories of the eighteenth century, appeared as the 
rainbow; and Wesley was as the sower, who comes after the 
clouds have been lifted up, and the floods have subsided, and 
scatters his seed in the serene hour of peace. The new devotees, 
content to remain under the guardianship of the established 
government, sought to enjoy the exquisite delights of religious 
sensibility, not to overthrow dynasties, or to break the bonds of 
colonial dependence. By J^hn Wesky, therefore, who resided 
in America less than two years, no share in moulding the political 
institutions of Georgia was desired or exerted. As he strolled 
through natural avenues of palmettoes and evergreen hollies, and 
woods sombre with hanging moss, his heart gushed forth in 
addresses to God. 

“ Is there a thing beneath the sun, 

That strives with Thee my heart to share ? 

Ah ! tear it thence, and reign alone, — 

The Lord of every motion there.” 

The austerity of his maxims involved him in controversies with 
the mixed settlers of Georgia ; and his residence in America pre- 
ceded his influence on the religious culture of its people. His 
brother was still less suited to shape events; fainting under 
fatigue, he sighed for sympathy ; the privations and hardships of 
the wilderness, among rough associates, plunged his gentle 
nature into the depths of melancholy and home-sickness ; and, at 
this time, his journal, of which extracts have unwisely been made 
public, is not a record of events around him, but rather a 
chronicle of what passed within himself — the groundless jealousies 
of a pure mind, rendered suspicious by pining disease. When 
afterwards George Whitefield came, his intrepid nature did not 
lose its cheerfulness in the encounter with the wilderness ; his 
eager benevolence, led by the example of the Moravians and the 
fame of the Orphan House at Halle, founded and sustained an 
orphan house at Savannah by contributions which his eloquence 
extorted. He became more ' nearly identified with America. 


WAR BETWEEN GEORGIA AND THE SPANIARDS. 159 

visited all the provinces from Florida to the northern frontier, 
and made his grave in New England; but he, also, swayed no 
I legislatures, and is chiefly remembered for his fervor and his 
I power of melting the multitude. 


WAE BETWEEN GEOBGIA AND THE SPANIAEDS. 

Having, in September, 1739, received instructions from Eng- 
land of the approaching war with Spain, Oglethorpe hastened, 
before the close of the year, to extend the boundaries of Georgia 
once more to the St. John^s, and immediately, in December, 
urged upon the province of South Carolina the reduction of the 
Spaniards at St. Augustine. ^^As soon as the sea is free,^^ he 
adds, they will send a large body of troops from Cuba.^' His 
own intrepidity would brook no delay, and, in the first week of 
1740, he entered Florida. ^^Dear Mr. Oglethorpe,^^ wrote the 
Moravian ministers, is now exposed to much danger; for the 
Spaniards wish nothing more than to destroy his health and life. 
He does not spare himself, but, in the common soldieFs dress, he 
engages in the most perilous actions. Since the new year, he has 
captured two small fortified places of the Spaniards, which were 
the outposts of St. Augustine, and now waits only for more 
Indians and more soldiers to attack that important fortress itself.'^ 
In March, Oglethorpe hurried to Charleston, to encourage the 
zeal of South Carolina; but the forces, which that province 
voted in April, were not ready till May ; and when the expedi- 
tion, composed of six hundred regular troops, four hundred militia 
from Carolina, beside Indian auxiliaries, who were soon reduced 
to two hundred, advanced to the walls of St. Augustine, the gar- 
rison, commanded by Monteano, a man of courage and energy, 
had already received supplies. A vigorous sally was successful 
against a detached party, chiefly of Highlanders, at Fort Moosa. 
Yet, for nearly five weeks, Oglethorpe endeavored, in defiance of 
his own weakness and the strength of the place, to devise means 
for victory, till the Carolina troops, enfeebled by the heat, dis- 
pirited by sickness, and fatigued by fruitless eflbrts, marched 
away in large bodies. The small naval force also resolved, in 
council, to take ofl* all their men, and sail away,'^ and thus put 
an end to the enterprise.^^ Oglethorpe returned without moles- 
tation to Frederica. His conduct throughout the summer was a 
commentary on his character. The few prisoners whom he made 
were kindly treated ; the cruelties of the savages were reproved 


160 WAR BETWEEN GEORGIA AND THE SPANIARDS. 


and restrained j not a field, or a garden, or a house, near St. 
Augustine, was injured, unless hj the Indians, — for burning 
them he thought the worst use to which they could he devoted. 

He endured more fatigues than any of his soldiers ; and, in 
spite of ill health consequent on exposure to perpetual damps, he 
was always at the head in every important action. 

The English still asserted their superiority on the southern 
frontier. St. Augustine had not fallen ; the Spaniards had not 
been driven from Florida; hut Oglethorpe maintained the ex- 
tended limits of Georgia ; his Indian alliances gave him the supe- 
riority in the wilderness as far as the land of the Choctas. 

At last, to make good its pretensions, the Spanish government 
resolved on invading Georgia. It collected its forces from Cuba, 
and a large fleet, with an armament of which the force had been 
greatly exaggerated, sailed towards the mouth of the St. Mary^s. 
Fort William, which Oglethorpe had constructed at the southern 
extremity of Cumberland Island, defended the entrance success- 
fully, till, fighting his way through Spanish vessels, which 
endeavored to intercept him, the general himself reinforced it. 
Then, promptly returning to St. Simonas, having no aid from 
Carolina, with less than a thousand men, by his vigilant activity, 
trusting in Providence, he prepared for defence. ^^We are 
resolved not to suffer defeat — such was his cheering message to 
Savannah — we will rather die like Leonidas and his Spartans, if 
we can but protect Carolina and the rest of the Americans from 
desolation.^^ And, going on board one of the little vessels that 
chanced to be at hand, he called on the seamen to stand by their 
liberties and country. For myself,^^ he added, I am prepared 
for all dangers. I know the enemy are far more numerous than 
we ; but I rely on the valor of our men, and, with the aid of God, 
I do not doubt we shall be victorious. 

On the fifth of July, seven days after it first came to anchor 
off Simonas Bar, the Spanish fleet of thirty-six vessels, with the 
tide of flood and a brisk gale, entered St. Simonas Harbor, and 
succeeded in passing the English batteries on the southern point 
of the island. The general signalled his ships to run up to Fre- 
derica, and, spiking the guns of the lower fort, withdrew to the 
town; while the Spaniards landed at Gascoin's Bluff, and took 
possession of the camps which the English had abandoned. But, 
in constructing the road to Frederica, Oglethorpe had left a morass 
on the one side, and a dense oak wood on the other. A party of 
Spaniards advance ; they are within a mile of the town ; they are 
met by Oglethorpe himself, with the Highland company, are 
overcome, pursued, and most of the party killed or taken prisoners. 


WAR BETWEEN GEORGIA AND THE SPANIARDS. 161 


A second party of the Spaniards march to the assault ; they come 
to a place where the narrow avenue, bending with the edge of the 
morass, forms a crescent : as they reach the fatal spot, Highland 
caps rise up in the wood, and, under the command of Mackay 
and Sutherland, an attack is begun. The opposing grenadiers at 
first stood firm, and discharged volley after volley at an enemy 
whom the thicket concealed. But, as Oglethorpe hastened to the 
scene, he found the victory already complete, except as a High- 
land shout or the yell of an Indian announced the discovery of 
some straggling Spaniard. The enemy had retreated, with a loss 
of about two hundred men, leaving to the ground, which was now 
strown with the dead, the name of ^Hhe Bloody Marsh. 

Despairing of success, and weakened by divisions, — deceived, 
too, by an ingenious stratagem, — the Spaniards, on the night of 
the fourteenth, re-embarked, leaving a quantity of ammunition 
and guns behind them. On the eighteenth, on their way to the 
south, they renewed their attack on Fort William, which was 
bravely defended by Stuart and his little garrison of fifty men. 
The English boats watched the movements of the retreating 
squadron till it was south of the St. John^s ; and, on the twenty- 
fourth day of July, Oglethorpe could publish an order for a 
general thanksgiving for the end of the invasion. ' 


BEADING EXERCISES 


ILLUSTRATING THE THIRD ERA. 


PATRIOTISM AND ELOQUENCE OF JOHN ADAMS. 

He possessed a bold spirit, which disregarded danger, and a 
sanguine reliance on the goodness of the cause and the virtues 
of the people, which led him to overlook all obstacles. His cha- 
racter, too, had been formed in troubled times. He had been 
rocked in the early storms of controversy, and had acquired a 
decision and a hardihood, proportioned to the severity of the dis- 
cipline which he had undergone. 

He not only loved the American cause devoutly, but had stu- 
died and understood it. He had tried his powers on the questions 
that it involved, often, and in various ways; and had brought to 
their consideration whatever of argument or illustration the his- 
tory of his own country, the history of England, or the stores of 
ancient or of legal learning could furnish. Every grievance 
enumerated in the long catalogue of the Declaration had been the 
subject of his discussion and the object of his remonstrance and 
reprobation. 

The eloquence of Mr. Adams resembled his general character, 
and formed, indeed, a part of it. It was bold, manly, and ener- 
getic; and such the crisis required. When public bodies are to 
be addressed on momentous occasions, when great interests are at 
stake, and strong passions excited, nothing is valuable in speech 
further than it is connected with high intellectual and moral en- 
dowments. Clearness, force, and earnestness are the qualities 
which produce conviction. True eloquence, indeed, does not 
consist in speech. It cannot be brought from far. Labor and 
learning may toil for it, but they will toil in vain. Words and 
phrases may be marshalled in every way, but they cannot com- 
pass it. It must exist in the man, in the subject, and in the 
occasion. 

Affected passion, intense expression, the pomp of declamation, 

( 162 ) 


PATRIOTISM AND ELOQUENCE. 


16B 


all may aspire after it — they cannot reach it. It comes, if it 
comes at all, like the outbreaking of a fountain from the earth, 
or the bursting forth of volcanic fires, with spontaneous, original, 
native force. The graces taught in the schools, the costly orna- 
ments and studied contrivances of speech, shock and disgust men, 
when their own lives and the fate of their wives, their children, 
and their country, hang on the decision of the hour. Then words 
have lost their power, rhetoric is vain, and all elaborate oratory 
contemptible. Even genius feels itself rebuked and subdued, as in 
the presence of higher qualities. Then patriotism is eloquent ; then 
self-devotion is eloquent. The clear conception, outrunning the 
deductions of logic, the high purpose, the firm resolve, the daunt- 
less spirit, speaking on the tongue, beaming from the eye, in- 
forming every feature, and urging the whole man onward, right 
onward to his object — this, this is eloquence; or, rather, it is 
something greater and higher than all eloquence — it is action, 
noble, sublime, godlike action. 

In July, 1776, the controversy had passed the stage of argu- 
ment. An appeal had been made to force, and opposing armies 
were in the field. Congress then was to decide whether the tie 
which had so long bound us to the parent state was to be severed 
at once, and severed for ever. All the colonies had signified their 
resolution to abide by this decision, and the people looked for it 
with the most intense anxiety. And, surely, fellow-citizens, never, 
never were men called to a more important political deliberation. 
If we contemplate it from the point where they then stood, no ques- 
tion could be more full of interest: if we look at it now, and 
judge of its importance by its effects, it appears in still greater 
magnitude. 

Let us then, bring before us the assembly, which was about to 
decide a question, thus big with the fate of empire. Let us open 
their doors, and look in upon their deliberations. Let us survey 
the anxious and care-worn countenances — let us hear the firm- 
toned voices, of this band of patriots. Hancock presides over 
the solemn sitting; and one of those not yet prepared to pro- 
nounce for absolute independence is on the floor, and is urging 
his reasons for dissenting from the Declaration. It was for Mr. 
Adams to reply to arguments like these. We know his opinions, 
and we know his character. He would commence with his 
accustomed directness and earnestness. 

Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my hand 
and my heart to this vote. It is true, indeed, that, in the be- 
ginning, we aimed not at independence. But, there^s a Divinity 
which shapes our ends. The injustice of England has driven us 


1G4 


JOHN ADAMSES 


to arms; and, blinded to her own interest, for our good, she has 
obstinately persisted, till independence is now within our grasp. 
We have but to reach forth to it, and it is ours. Why, then, 
should we defer the Declaration ? Is any man so weak as now 
to hope for a reconciliation with England which shall leave either 
safety to the country and its liberties, or safety to his own life 
and his own honor? Are not you, sir, who sit in that chair, is 
not he, our venerable colleague near you — are you not both 
already the proscribed and predestined objects of punishment and 
of vengeance? 

Cut olf from all hope of royal clemency, what are you, what 
can you be, while the power of England remains, but outlaws ? 
If we postpone independence, do we mean to carry on or give up 
the war? Do we mean to submit to the measures of Parliament, 
Boston port-bill and all ? Do we mean to submit, and consent 
that we, ourselves, shall be ground to powder, and our country 
and its rights trodden down in the dust? 

I know we do not mean to submit. We never shall submit. 
Do we intend to violate that most solemn obligation ever entered 
into by men — that plighting, before God, of our sacred honor to 
Washington, when, putting him forth to incur the dangers of 
war, as well as the political hazards of the times, we promised to 
adhere to him in every extremity, with our fortunes and our lives? 
I know there is not a man here who would not rather see a general 
conflagration sweep over the land, or an earthquake sink it, than 
one jot or tittle of that plighted faith fall to the ground. 

For myself, having, twelve months ago, in this place, moved 
you that George Washington be appointed commander of the 
forces raised or to be raised for defence of American liberty, may 
my right hand forget her cunning, and my tongue cleave to the 
roof of my mouth, if I hesitate or waver in the support I give 
him! The war, then, must go on. We must fight it through. 
And if the war must go on, why put off longer the Declaration 
of Independence ? That measure will strengthen us. It will 
give us character abroad. The nations will then treat with us, 
which they never can do while we acknowledge ourselves subjects, 
in arms against our sovereign. 

Nay, I maintain, that England herself, will sooner treat for 
peace with us on the footing of independence, than consent, by 
repealing her acts, to acknowledge that her whole conduct towards 
us has been a course of injustice and oppression. Her pride will 
be less wounded by submitting to that course of things which now 
predestinates our independence, than by yielding the points in 
controversy to her rebellious subjects. The former she would 


PATRIOTISM AND ELOQUENCE. 


165 


regard as the result of fortune ; the latter she would feel as her 
own deep disgrace. Why then, why then, sir, do we not, as soon 
as possible, change this from a civil to a national war? And 
since we must fight it through, why not put ourselves in a state 
to enjoy all the benefits of victory, if we gain the victory? 

If we fail, it can be no worse for us. But we shall not fail. 
The cause will raise up armies; the cause will create navies. 
The people, the people, if we are true to them, will carry us, and 
will carry themselves, gloriously through this struggle. I care 
not how fickle other people have been found. I know the people 
of these colonies, and I know that resistance to British aggression 
is deep and settled in their hearts, and cannot be eradicated. 
Every colony, indeed, has expressed its willingness to follow, if 
we but take the lead. Sir, the Declaration will inspire the people 
with increased courage. Instead of a long and bloody war for 
restoration of privileges, for redress of grievances, for chartered 
immunities, held under a British king, set before them the glo- 
rious object of entire independence, and it will breathe into them 
anew the breath of life. 

Read this Declaration at the head of the army : every sword 
will be drawn from its scabbard, and the solemn vow be uttered 
to maintain it, or perish on the bed of honor. Publish it from 
the pulpit : religion will approve it, and the love of religious 
liberty will cling round it, resolved to stand with it, or fall with 
it. Send it to the public halls; proclaim it there; let them hear 
it, who heard the first roar of the enemy's cannon ; let them see 
it, who saw their brothers and their sons fall on the field of Bun- 
ker Hill and in the streets of Lexington and Concord, and the 
very walls will cry out in its support. 

“Sir, I know the uncertainty of human affairs; but I see, I 
see clearly, through this day's business. You and I, indeed, may 
rue it. We may not live to the time when this Declaration shall 
be made good. We may die; die colonists; die slaves; die, it 
may be, ignominiously, and on the scaffold. Be it so. Be it so. 
If it be the pleasure of Heaven that my country shall require the 
poor offering of my life, the victim shall be ready, at the appointed 
hour of sacrifice, come when that hour may. But, while I do 
live, let me have a country, or at least the hope of a country, and 
that a free country. 

“ But, whatever may be our fate, be assured, be assured that 
this Declaration will stand. It may cost treasure, and it may cost 
blood ; but it will stand, and it will richly compensate for both. 
Through the thick gloom of the present, I see the brightness of 
the future, as the sun in heaven. We shall make this a glorious. 


166 


WASHINGTON AND ADAMS. 


an immortal day. When we are in our graves, our children will 
honor it. They will celebrate it with thanksgiving, with festivity, 
with bonfires and illuminations. On its annual return they will 
shed tears, copious, gushing tears — not of subjection and slavery 
— not of agony and distress — but of exultation, of gratitude, 
and of joy. Sir, before God, I believe the hour is come. ^ My 
judgment approves this measure, and my whole heart is in it. 
All that I have, and all that I am, and all that T hope, in this 
life, I am now ready to stake here upon it; and I leave off, as I 
began, that, live or die, survive or perish, I am for the Declara- 
tion. It is my living sentiment, and, by the blessing of God, it 
shall be my dying sentiment — independence now; and inde- 
pendence POR everT' 


WASHINGTON AND ADAMS. 

In a manuscript journal, under date of November 4, 1825, I 
find a record of a conversation had with the venerable John 
Adams, at that time, relative to the appointment of General 
Washington. It was in substance as follows : — 

The army was assembled at Cambridge, Massachusetts, under 
General Ward, and Congress was sitting at Philadelphia. Every 
day arrived new applications in behalf of the army. The country 
was urgent that Congress should adopt the army^ for until they 
had, it must be considered, and was in law considered, only as a 
mob, a band of armed rebels. The country was placed in cir- 
cumstances of peculiar delicacy and danger. The struggle had 
begun, and yet everything was at loose ends. The great trial now 
seemed to be in this question — who shall he commander-in-chief? 
It was exceedingly important, and was felt to be the hinge on 
which the whole might turn for or against us. 

The Southern and Middle States, warm and rapid in their zeal, 
for the most part were jealous of New England, because they felt 
that the real physical force was here. What, then, was to be 
done? All New England adored General Ward; he had been in 
the French war, and came out laden with laurels. He was a 
scholar and a gentleman. All the qualifications seemed to cluster 
in him, and it was confidently believed that the army could not 
receive any commander over him. What, then, was to be done ? 
Difficulties thickened at every step. The struggle was to be long 
and bloody. Without union all was lost. Union was strength. 
The country, and the whole country, must come in. One pulsa- 


WASHINGTON AND ADAMS. 


167 


don must beat through all hearts. The cause was one, and the 
arm must be one. The members had talked, debated, considered, 
and guessed, and yet the decisive step had not been taken. 

At length Mr. Adams came to his conclusion, and the manner 
of developing it was nearly as follows: — He was walking one 
morning before Congress Hall, apparently in deep thought, when 
his cousin, Samuel Adams, came up to him and said, “What 
is the topic with you this morning, cousin?^' “Oh, the army, 
the army,'^ he replied. “I am determined what to do about the 
army at Cambridge,^^ he continued — “I am determined to go 
into the hall this morning, and enter on a full detail of the state 
of the colonies, in order to show the absolute need of taking some 
decisive steps. My whole aim will be to induce Congress to 
appoint a day for adopting tho army as the legal army of the 
United Colonies of North America, and then to hint at an elec- 
tion of a commander-in-chief.^' 

“Well," said Samuel Adams, “I like that, cousin John; but 
on whom have you fixed as this commander?" “I'll tell you — 
George Washington, of Virginia, a member of this house." 
“Oh," replied Samuel Adams, quickly, “that will never do, 
never, never." “It must do, it shall do," said John, “and for 
these reasons : The Southern and Middle States are loath to enter 
heartily into the cause, and their arguments are potent; they see 
that New England holds the physical power in her hands, and 
they fear the result. A New England army, a New England 
commander, with New England perseverance, all united, appal 
them. For this cause they hang back. Now tbe only way is, 
to allay their fears, and give them nothing to complain of ; and 
this can be done in no other way but by appointing a Southern 
chief over this force. Then all will feel secure ; then all will 
rush to the standard. This policy will blend us in one mass, and 
that mass will be resistless." 

At this Samuel Adams seemed greatly moved. They talked 
over the preliminary circumstances, and John asked his cousin to 
I second his motion. Mr. Adams went in, took the floor, and put 
1 forth all his strength in the delineations he had prepared, all aim- 
i ing at the adoption of the army ! He was ready to own the army, 
appoint a commander, vote supplies, and proceed to business. 

After his speech, some doubted, some objected, and some feared. 
His warmth mounted with the occasion, and to all these doubts 
and hesitations he replied, “ Gentlemen, if this Congress will not 
I adopt this army, before ten moons have set. New England will 
have a Congress of her own which will adopt it, and she, she will 
undertake the struggle alone ; yes, with a strong arm and a clear 

I 

f 

1 

I 


168 


ANECDOTE OF WASHINGTON. 


conscience, will front the foe alone V* This had the desired 'effect. 
They saw New England was not playing, and was not to be played 
with ; they agreed to appoint a day. The day was fixed. It 
came. Mr. Adams went in, took the floor, urged the measure, 
and, after debate, it passed. 

The next thing was to get a lawful commander for this lawful 
army, with supplies, &c. All looked to Mr. Adams on this occa- 
sion, and he was ready. He took the floor, and went into a mi- 
nute delineation of the character of Greneral Ward, bestowing on 
him the epithets which then belonged to no one else. At the end 
of this eulogy, he said, ^‘But this is not the man I have chosen. 
He then went into a delineation of the character of a commander- 
in-chief, such as was required by the peculiar situation of the 
colonies at that juncture ; and, after he had presented the qualifi- 
cations in his strongest language, and given the reasons for the 
nomination he was about to make, he said — Gentlemen, I know 
these qualifications are high, but we all know they are needful at 
this crisis in this chief. Does any one say they are not to be ob- 
tained in the country? I reply, they are; they reside in one of 
our own body, and he is the person whom I now nominate — 
George Washington, of Virginia 

Washington, who sat on Mr. Adamses right hand, was looking 
him intently in the face to watch the name he was about to an- 
nounce; and not expecting it would be his own, he sprang from 
his seat the moment he heard it, and rushed into an adjoining 
room as quickly as though moved by a shock of electricity. 

Mr. Adams had asked his cousin Sam to move for an adjourn- 
ment as soon as the nomination was made, in order to give the 
members time to deliberate in private. They did deliberate, and 
the result is before the world. 

I asked Mr. Adams, among other questions, the following : — 
^^Did you never doubt of the success of the conflict?^' ‘‘No, 
no,^' said he, “ not for a moment. I expected to be hung and 
quartered, if I was caught ; but no matter for that, my country 
would be free; I knew George III. could not forge chains long 
enough and strong enough to reach round these States.'^ 


ANECDOTE OF WASHINGTON. 

On a day in the early part of the revolution, just after the sun 
had passed its meridian, an American officer could have been seen 
slowly wending his way along one of the unfrequentled roads that 


169 


ANECDOTE OF WASHINGTON. 

wound their way up among the mountains, in the vicinity of 
West Point; where was then stationed the American army. The 
officer was unaccompanied, and as the horse, with slow and mea- 
sured tread moved along the road, with the slackened rein hanging 
loose upon his neck, his rider seemed buried in a deep reverie. 

The scene around was one of peculiar beauty, the far mountains 
heaped up, one above another, against the horizon, and at his 
feet the Hudson sweeping on with a sweet and placid look. But 
the thoughts of the traveller were turned inward, and his eyes 
heeded not the pageant before them, but seemed rather to be 
reading the dark and obscure future, or trying to penetrate into 
the mysteries which surrounded the present. His thoughts, 
however, were apparently not disturbed, but only solemn and 
deep. It would have been impossible for any one to have looked 
upon his calm, thoughtful brow, the majestic, but benevolent 
expression of his countenance, the firm contour though sweet 
expression of bis lips, the mild, penetrating glance of his eye, 
and the noble proportions of his frame, without detecting the 
presence of the great Washington. Presently he drew up 
before a mansion on the road, dismounted, and approached the 
house. Almost immediately a door was thrown open, and an 
aged gentleman, in a civilian's dress, rushed forth and greeted 
the comer with many, seemingly, earnest protestations of welcome. 

The family in which Washington, on this occasion, was received, 
was one he had frequently been in the habit of visiting. During 
the stay of the army at West Point, he frequently dined with its 
members, and with its head he had at first reposed confidence 
and friendship. But many suspicions of his honesty were whis- 
pered about, and in some quarters he was openly accused of 
treachery to the American cause. To these suspicions Washing- 
ton would not heed, but having been invited to dine with him on 
a certain day and at a certain hour, and this invitation being 
pressed with so much over-earnestness, and accompanied with an 
insinuation, that his appearance with a guard was an indication 
of his want of confidence in his friend^s fidelity, and urged to 
give a proof of his unchanged belief in his honesty, by coming 
unattended to partake with him a private dinner, Washington's 
suspicions at last became aroused, and he resolved, by accepting 
the invitation, to prove at once the truth or falsehood of the sus- 
picions entertained against him. It was to fulfil this engagement 
that Washington, on the occasion we have described, proceeded 
to the residence of his suspected friend. 

The time appointed for the dinner was two o^ clock, but it was 
not later than one when Washington dismounted at the door of 

15 


170 




ANECDOTE OF WASHINGTON. 

his host. He had an especial object in this early arrival. The 
host proposed to occupy the interim before dinner, by a walk on 
the piazza. Here conversation occupied the time, and it soon 
became apparent to the chief that his host's manner was exceed- 
ingly nervous and excitable. 

Without revealing this knowledge, Washington continued the 
discourse, and, while he carefully avoided betraying his suspi- 
cions, he skilfully led the conversation to such subjects, that 
would be most likely to cause his companion to betray his agita- 
tion. So poor an actor was he, and so often was his conscience 
probed by the apparently innocent remarks of the commander-in- 
chief, that his nervousness of manner became so marked as to 
give the greatest pain to Washington, at this proof of the infi- 
delity of one on whom he had once reposed unlimited confidence. 

The American commander, in commenting upon the different 
beauties of the landscape that surrounded them, pointed out the 
spot where lay the encampment of the enemy, at the same time 
remarking upon the extraordinary lack of principle that could 
induce men of x\merican birth to forego the interests of their 
country, and every consideration of holy patriotism, to enrol them- 
selves among their country's invaders for no other temptation than 
a little glittering gold. Before the penetrating look which Wash- 
ington fixed upon him while making these remarks, the guilty 
traitor quailed; but at this juncture, he was relieved by the sound 
of approaching horses, and as both guest and host turned to the 
direction whence the sound proceeded, a company of dragoons in 
British uniforms appeared upon the brow of the hill, and gallop- 
ing rapidly along the road towards the house. Bless me, sir !" 
exclaimed Washington; ^^what cavalry are these approaching the 
house 

‘‘A party of British light horse," rejoined his trembling host, 
^^who mean no harm, but are merely sent for my protection !" 
^‘British horse sent here while I am your guest !" said Wash- 
ington with startling sternness, as he turned upon his guest with 
an air of command that awed, and caused to quail, the little soul 
of the betrayer before the mighty spirit that he had aroused. 
‘•What does this mean, sir?" continued Washington, as a terri- 
ble look gathered upon his brow. 

By this time the troops had arrived, and they were seen dis- 
mounting from their horses. This gave courage to the trembling 
traitor. “General," said he approaching his guest, “General, 
you are my prisoner." “ I believe not," replied Washington, his 
manner having regained its former calmness, “ but, sir, I know 
that you are mine! Officer, arrest this traitor!" 


ORIGIN OF YANKEE DOODLE. 


171 


In bewildering consternation the treacherous hypocrite looked 
from Washington to the men; the one an American officer, and 
the others seemingly British soldiers. But the puzzle was soon 
solved. Washington had ordered a company of Americans to 
disguise themselves as British cavalry, and to arrive at the man- 
sion designated, at a quarter before two, by which means he 
would be enabled to discover the innocence or guilt of the sus- 
pected person. 

The issue proved his suspicions were well founded, and the 
mode he adopted for detecting the plot admirably displayed his 
great sagacity. The false friend was handed over to the keeping 
of the soldiers, and conducted to the American camp as a pri- 
soner. He afterwards, confessed, that he had been offered a large 
sum to betray Washington into the hands of the English; and 
at the hour of two, a party of British horse would have surrounded 
the house and captured the American chief. 


OIIIGIN OF YANKEE DOODLE. 

It is a known matter of history, that in the early part of 1755, 
great exertions were made by the British ministry, at the head of 
which was the illustrious Earl of Chatham, for the reduction of 
the French power in the provinces of the Canadas. To carry 
the object into effect, General Amherst, referred to in the letters 
of Junius, was appointed to the command of the British arms in 
North-western America; and the British colonies in America 
were called upon for assistance, who contributed with alacrity their 
several quotas of men to effect the grand object of British enter- 
prise. 

It is a fact still within the recollection of some of our oldest 
inhabitants here, that the British army lay encamped, in the sum- 
mer of 1755, on the eastern banks of the Hudson, a little south 
of the city of Albany, on the ground now belonging to John I. 
Van Rensselaer, Esq. To this day vestiges of their encampment 
remain, and after a lapse of so many years, when a great propor- 
tion of the actors of those days have passed away, like the shadows 
from the earth, the inquisitive traveller can observe where they 
boiled their camp-kettles. 

It was this army that, under the command of Abercrombie, 
was foiled with a severe loss in the attack on Ticonderoga, where 
the distinguished Howe fell at the head of his troops, in an hour 
that history has consecrated to his fame. In the early part of 


172 


DANIEL BOONE. 


June, the eastern troops began to pour in, company after company ; 
ami such a motley assemblage never before thronged together on 
such an occasion, unless an example may be found in the ragged 
regiment of Sir John Falstaff, of right merry and facetious memory. 

It would, said my worthy ancestor, who related to me the story, 
have relaxed the gravity of an anchorite to have seen the de- 
scendants of the Puritans marching through the streets of our 
ancient city, to take their stations on the left side of the British 
army, some with small coats, and others with no coats at all, as 
varied as the rainbow, some with their hair cropped, like the array 
of Cromwell, and others with wigs whose curls flowed with grace 
around their shoulders. 

Their march, their accoutrements, and the whole arrangement 
of the troops, furnished matter of amusement to the wits of the 
British army. The music played the airs of two centuries ago ; 
the tout ensemhle exhibited a sight to the wondering strangers that 
they had been unaccustomed to in their native land. Among the 
club of wits that belonged to the British army, there was a phy- 
sician attached to the stafiP, by the name of Dr. Shackburg, who 
combined with the science of the surgeon the skill and talents of 
a musician. 

To please brother Jonathan, he composed a tune, and with much 
gravity recommended it to the officers, as one of the most cele- 
brated airs of martial music. The joke took, to the no small 
amusement of the British corps. Brother Jonathan exclaimed, it 
was uation Jiney2iX\d. in a few days nothing was heard but Yankee 
Doodle. Ijittle did the author and his coadjutors then suppose 
that an air made for the purpose of levity and ridicule would be 
marked for such destinies. In twenty years from that time, our 
national march inspired the hearts of the heroes of Bunker’s Hill ; 
and, in less than thirty. Lord Cornwallis and his army marched 
into the American lines to the tune of Yankee Doodle. 


DANIEL BOONE. 

The Illinois Magazine publishes the following letter, from a 
venerable citizen of Kentucky, relative to the hardy and adven- 
turous huntsman who is so justly and universally regarded as the 
patriarch of that State. The brief narrative which it gives of 
the life and adventures of the fearless and single-hearted father 
of the great Mest cannot fail to interest the general reader: — 

I received your letter, a few days since, requesting me to state 


DANIEL BOONE. 


173 


what I knew of Colonel Daniel Boone. When a boy, I knew 
him. He lived within a mile and a half of my father’s, in Cul- 
peper county, Virginia, for two years, and I frequently set up 
targets for him to shoot at. From thence he moved to North * 
Carolina, and I saw no more of him until I met him in Kentucky 
in 1781. 

We were frequently together afterwards, and several times in 
the woods, surveying, in company, and a more agreeable, friendly 
companion I have never seen. In stature, I think he was about 
five feet ten inches high, and well proportioned. His appearance 
was fine, his manners easy, his mind strong and philosophic, his 
disposition mild and placid, and his character unimpeachable. A 
more friendly and hospitable man never lived. 

I will now inform you of what he told me relative to his first 
discovery of Kentucky. He said that himself, his brother Squire, 
and a servant boy came to North Carolina, to take a fall hunt in 
Powell’s Valley, having hunted there the year before. He was 
hunting along the side of the Cumberland mountain, and disco- 
vered a gap or low place in the mountain, which he ascended to 
the top, and thence he imagined he could see the Ohio river. He 
thought in hiS own mind, that it was the most beautiful country 
in the world. He returned to the camp, and informed his brother 
what he had seen, telling him that they must up and go across 
the mountain. 

They did so, and travelled on to Scagg’s creek, where the deer 
were so plenty that they soon loaded their seven horses with shaved 
skins, and he started his brother and the servant boy back with 
them to North Carolina. He told his brother to bring back to 
him as many horses as he could get, and he would have their loads 
ready against his return. He stayed and hunted there, and 
never saw the face of man for eight months to a day. He de- 
clared that he never enjoyed himself better in his life; he had 
three dogs that kept his camp while he was hunting, and, at night, 
he would often lie by his fire and sing every song he could think 
of, while the dogs would sit round him, and give as much atten- 
tion as if they understood every word he was saying. 

At the end of eight months, his brother and servant boy came 
to him with fourteen horses. His brother informed him that when 
he got into North Carolina with his peltry, the Indians had fallen 
upon the frontiers, and that he had to go, with others, against 
them. Boone had the packs nearly all ready, and, in a day or 
two, they loaded the horses and started for home. They travelled 
the first day, and until about ten o’clock the next day, when he 
saw four Indians, with as many horses, loaded with beaver fur. 
15* 


\ 


174 


DANIEL BOONE. 


They were crossing each other, and seeing plainly that they must 
meet, he cautioned his brother and the servant boy not to let the 
Indians have their guns out of their hands; for they would be 
* sure to make an attempt to get them, under pretence of wanting 
to examine them. 

The Indians endeavored to get tbeir guns, but they would not 
let them get possession of them. The Indians then went round 
Boone's horses, and drove them off with their own. Boone said 
he looked hard after them a while, and then (not thinking it pru- 
dent to attack four men, on their guard, with but one man and a 
boy to back him) he put off for home. They went on* tha£ day, 
and until nine or ten o'clock of the next. He then observed to 
his brother and the boy that if they would stick to him, he would 
turn about and follow the Indians even to their towns but he I 
would have his skins and horses back. They agreed to it, and i 
immediately pursued hard after them, and came in sight of them 
the fourth day. ^^Now," said Boone, we must trail them on 
until they stop to eat." 

The Indians at length halted, hoppled their horses, cooked, and 
ate; Boone and his companions watching them' all the while. 
He well knew that, having eaten, they would all lie dowm to sleep 
except one. They did so; and the one who was on guard sat on 
a log at the head of the others, and Boone and his boys had to 
creep on all-fours for a hundred yards to get near enough to shoot. 
Boone then told his brother that he would take for his own mark 
the one on the log; that he (the brother) must aim at the one on 
the right, and the boy at the one on the left ; and that, when he 
gave the signal, they must fire, and keep loading and shooting, 
making as much noise and using as many different tones as they 
could. 

They fired, and he tilted his man over the log ; but the others 
bore him off. The Indians fled, and they followed for three 
quarters of a mile, shooting and yelling ; then came back, gathered 
their own horses and those of the Indians, put on their packs and 
the packs of beaver fur, and drove them safe to his own house, in 
North Carolina. The above is just as he told it to me himself. 


THE YOUTH OF WASHINGTON. 





THE YOUTH OF ^YASHINGTON. 

After long years of strife, of repose, and of strife renewed, 
England and France solemnly agreed to be at peace. The trea- 
ties of Aix la Chapelle bad been negotiated, by the ablest states- 
men of Europe, in the splendid forms of monarchical diplomacy. 
They believed themselves the arbiters of mankind, the pacificators 
of the world, reconstructing the colonial system on a basis which 
should endure for ages, confirming the peace of Europe by the 
nice adjustment of material forces. 

At the very time of the congress of Aix la Chapelle, the woods 
* of Virginia sheltered the youthful George Washington, the son 
of a widow. Born bv the side of the Potomac, beneath the roof 
of a Westmoreland farmer, almost from infancy his lot had been 
the lot of an orphan. No academy had welcomed him to its 
shades, no college crowned him with its honors : to read, to write, 
to cipher — these had been his degrees in knowledge. 

And now, at sixteen years of age, in quest of an honest main- 
tenance, encountering intolerable toil; cheered onward by being 
able to write to a school-boy friend, Dear iliehard, a doubloon 
is my constant gain every day, and sometimes six pistoles;^' 

himself his own cook, having no spit but a forked stick, no 
plate but a large chip;^' roaming over spurs of the Alleghenies, 
and along the banks of the Shenandoah ; alive to nature, and 
sometimes spending the best of the day in admiring the trees 
and richness of the land among skin-clad savages, with their 
scalps and rattles, or uncouth emigrants, that would never speak 
English rarely sleeping in a bed; holding a bearskin a splendid 
couch ; glad of a resting-place for the night upon a little hay, 
straw, or fodder, and often camping in the forests, where the 
place nearest the fire was a happy luxury; this stripling surveyor 
in the woods, with no companion but his unlettered associates, 
and no implements of science but his compass and chain, con- 
trasted strangely with the imperial magnificence of the congress 
of Aix la Chapelle. 

And yet God had selected, not Kaunitz, nor Newcastle, not a 
monarch of the house of Hapsburg, nor of Hanover, but the 
Virginia stripling, to give an impulse to human affairs, and, as 
far as events can depend on an individual, had placed the rights 
and the destinies of countless millions in the keeping of the 
widow's son. 


176 


THE BATTLE OF TRENTON. 


THE BATTLE OF TRENTON. 

Y^u have heard of General Knox, then Colonel — and of his 
stentorian voice. I assure you that no justice can be done to him 
or it ; my ears rang, for a fortnight after, at the same hour of the 
night, and do yet, when I remember how he galloped about, 
cursing, swearing, dismounting every five minutes, and lifting his 
own artillery, like a giant. He was a gallant fellow — full of 
]3lQO(i — with all the blunt, strong New England hardihood. And 
Greene himself was there — the only man of all our troops capable, 

I believe, in case of any disaster, to take the place of Washing- 
ton ; there he sat full of deep religious composure — his broad 
forehead fronting the fires, that were kindled near the place of • 
embarkation. 

At last, though not until three o^clock in the morning, we were 
fairly landed upon the Jersey shore, and by five had taken up our 
line of march. 

Our whole army passed softly and silently by, two or three 
officers, posted upon the road-side, continually waving their swords 
with a motion as if to enjoin the most deathlike stillness ; and 
deathlike it was, for nothing could be heard but the blowing of 
horses, a jolting sound now and then in the wet snow where the 
artillery-wagons and gun-carriages cut through the ground — and 
a general rush, deep, heavy, as water. 

A few moments after, a troop of Virginians, under Captain 
Washington, afterwards so distinguished at the South,) paraded 
in beautiful style through the heavy snow, and brought us in- 
telligence which tended to accelerate our march. Before his 
arrival, we had hoped (as I afterwards found) to surprise the 
enemy at Trenton, while yet overpowered by the festivities of the 
preceding night — and make his morning sleep the sleep of death ; 
but now that hope was abandoned, for Captain Washington had 
encountered his picket, exchanged a few shots, and left him pre- 
pared for what it is remarkable that he had heard a vague rumor 
of — our intended attack. Yet this very affair, which at first 
threatened to be so disastrous, the frolic of Captain Washington, 
was probably the chief reason why we succeeded in surprising the 
enemy at last; for, as that was not followed up, he retired to 
quarters, after waiting a reasonable time, as we afterwards found, 
thinking the whole a Virginia row. 

Our troops were now thrown into two divisions. We were 
separated from our father — who was detailed under Sullivan and 
St. Clair to take the river road — while we, under Washington 
himself, Greene, Morris, and Stevens, pushed onward through 
what is called the Pennington road. 


THE BATTLE OF TRENTON. 177 

A few moments afterwards — just while I thought my heart 
had lost its motion entirely — for I felt, in looking about me, and 
seeing the dark array of substantial but noiseless creatures, horses 
and wagons — as if the whole army were an apparition — a caval- 
cade of dead men — marching from one place of burial to another, 
I heard a shot so near me that my horse leaped out of my rank. 
This was followed by a loud cry — two or three words — a volley — 
and then shot after shot, as if a line of sentinels, sleeping upon 
their posts, had suddenly started up, one after the other, fired off 
their pieces and run in. 

Our advance were well furnished with bayonets — and they im- 
mediately charged upon the picket, and we dashed after them, 
trampling them to death with our horses, riding over them like a 
whirlwind, without speaking a word or firing a shot. This was 
scarcely done, when we heard the firing of the other division, at 
the opposite quarter — so admirably timed had been the arrange- 
ment — and we immediately galloped into the centre of the town, 
horse and foot, determined to ride the enemy down, or bayonet 
them, before they had time to form. 

Washington was dreadfully exposed. The first picket, think- 
ing this a second attack of the same little skirmishing party that 
had fired into them before, neglected to give the alarm, and the 
outposts, though they fought most gallantly, retreating step by 
step, behind the houses, disputing every inch, and presenting 
their bright bayonets, without a flash of powder, wherever we 
rode in upon them — so that we could not, with all our cutting 
and spurring, force our horses upon them — and then the moment 
we had faced about, blazing away upon us, and running to the 
next house — were driven in. 

At last we had an opportunity for fair play ; the Hessians were 
formed, and forming, with the whole glittering with bayonets. 
A tremendous struggle was going on at our right, under the very 
eye of Washington, with the enemy's artillery, which was taken, 
when, with a troop of horse, Archibald rode down, his cap off, 
his sword flashing like a firebrand, in the light and smoke of the 
musketry — Charge! charge!" he cried — ‘^charge! my brave 
fellows ! and provoke them to fire." Another troop ! another ! 
and another ! thundered down, from the right and left, but with 
no effect at all upon the invincible Germans — the front rank 
kneeled all around — while the rest were forming, and presented 
their bayonets, without firing a shot. 

“By heavens !" said Archibald, shouting as if his heart would 
break, to Captain Washington — will try them again!" And, 
as he said so, he rode at full speed, so near that it appeared to 


178 


DE KALB. 


me that he could have struck the enemy with his sword — and I 
fired his pistol into their faces. Our front rank followed the ' 
example — and the next moment, all the Hessians brought their ( 
pieces up to their cheeks, and poured a tremendous volley in j 
upon us. I saw my father fall— r Arthur reel in his stirrups — | 
but Archibald, as if prepared for this very thing, shouted, “ Wheel 
and charge Wheel and charge repeated a hundred voices 

in our rear — wheel and charge V* 

We obeyed and the snow flew — and the swords flashed — and 
the next moment, a hundred of the enemy — the whole of his | 
front rank — were trampled to death before us, and twenty human ; 
heads rolled upon the ground, among the feet of our horses. The I 
infantry under Greene poured in volley after volley, at the same 
time ; and Knox, having brought round his light field-pieces to 
bear, as if they had been blunderbusses, played in upon them an 
uninterrupted roll of thunder and smoke. | 

It was impossible to stand it — no human being could have i 
endured the hurricane of fire-bullets longer. They threw down j 
their arms — and then it was — then — when it was necessary to 
move about the quieter operations of strife, that we began to feel 
the intense coldness of the night — the keen air cutting into our 
new wounds, like rough broken glass. 


DE KALB. 

This good man was Major-General in the American army dur- 
ing the revolutionary war. He was a German by birth, a brave 
and meritorious officer. Pie had attained a high reputation in 
military service, and was a knight of the order of military merit, 
and a Brigadier-General in the armies of France. He accom- 
panied the Marquis de la Fayette to this country, and, having 
proffered his services to Congress, he was appointed to the office 
of Major-General. He repaired to the main army, in which he 
served at the head of the Maryland division, very much respected. 

Possessing a stout frame, with excellent health, no officer was 
more able to encounter the toils of war. Moderate in mental 
powers, as in literary acquirements, he excelled chiefly in prac- 
tical knowledge of men and things, gained during a life of close 
and accurate investigation of the causes and effects of passing 
events. 

At the battle of Camden, in South Carolina, the Baron de Kalb 
commanded the right wing of the American army. At the com- 


DE KALB. 


179 


inencement of the action the great body of militia who formed 
the left wing of the army, on being charged with fixed bayonets 
by the British infantry, threw down their arms, and with the 
utmost precipitation fled from the field. In this battle the Ame- 
ricans suffered a severe defeat and loss. 

The continental troops, who formed the right wing of the army, 
inferior as they were in numbers to the British, stood their ground, 
and maintained the conflict with great resolution. Never did men 
acquit themselves better. The Americans lost the whole of their 
artillery, eight field-pieces, upwards of two hundred wagons, and 
the greater part of their baggage. The royal army fought with 
great bravery, but their victory was in a great measure owing to 
their superiority in cavalry, and the precipitate . retreat of the 
American militia. 

Be Kalb, sustaining by his splendid example the courageous 
efibit of our inferior force, in his last resolute attempt to seize 
victory, received eleven wounds, and was made prisoner. His 
lingering life was rescued from immediate death by the brave 
interposition of Lieutenant-colonel de Buysson, one of his aide- 
de-camps, who embraced the prostrate general and received into 
his own body the bayonets pointed at his friend. Chevalier de 
Buysson rushed through the clashing bayonets, and, stretching 
his arms over the body of the fallen hero, exclaimed, Save the 
Baron de Kalb ! save the Baron de Kalb !’^ The British officers 
interposed and prevented his immediate destruction j but he sur- 
vived the action but a few hours. To a British officer, who kindly 
condoled with him in his misfortune, he replied, “ I thank you 
for your generous sympathy, but I die the death I always prayed 
for; the death of a soldier fighting for the rights of man.^^ 

The heroic veteran, though treated with every attention, sur- 
vived but a few hours. Never were the last moments of a soldier 
better employed. He dictated a letter to General Smallwood, 
who succeeded to the command of his division, breathing in every 
word his sincere and ardent afifection for his officers and soldiers, 
expressing his admiration of their late noble, though unsuccessful 
stand ; reciting the eulogy which their bravery had extorted from 
the enemy ; together with the lively delight such testimony of 
their valor had excited in his own mind, then hovering on the 
shadowy confines of life. Feeling the pressure of death, he 
stretched out his quivering hand to his friend and aide-de-camp 
Chevalier de^Buysson ; proud of his generous wounds, he breathed 
his last benedictions on his faithful brave division. 

General Washington, many years after, on a visit to Camden, 
inquired for the grave of De Kalb. After looking on it a while, 


180 


Peabody's leap. 


\ 


with a countenance marked with thought, he breathed a deep 
sigh, and exclaimed, “ So there lies the brave De Kalb; the 
generous stranger who came from a foreign land to fight our bat- 
tles, and to water with his blood the tree of our liberty. Would to 
Grod he bad lived to share its fruits !" 

On the 14th of October, 1780, Congress erected a monument 
to his memory, in the town of Annapolis, in the State of Mary- 
land. 


PEABODY'S LEAP. 

A LEGEND OF LAKE CHAMPLAIN. 


Many are the places, scattered over the face of our beautiful 
country, whose wild and picturesque scenery is worthy of the 
painter’s pencil or the poet's pen. Some of them, which were 
once celebrated for their rich stores of ‘legendary lore,'^ are now 
only sought to view their natural scenery, while the traditions 
which formerly gave them celebrity are buried in oblivion. Such 
is the scene of the following adventure, — a romantic glen, bounded 
on the north side by a high and rocky hill, which stretches itself 
some distance into the lake, terminating in a precipice, some thirty 
feet in height, and once known by the name of Peabody's Leap." 

At the time of this adventure, Timothy Peabody was the only 
white man that lived within fifty miles of this place, and his was 
the daring spirit that achieved it. In an attack on one of the 
frontier settlements, his family had all been massacred by the 
merciless savages, and he had sworn that their death should be 
revenged. The better to accomplish this dread purpose, he had 
removed to this solitary place, and constructed the rude shelter in 
which he dwelt, till the blasts of winter drove him to the homes 
of his fellow-men, again to renew the contest when spring had 
awakened nature into life and beauty. ^ 

He was a man who possessed much rude cunning, combined 
with a thorough knowledge of Indian habits, by which he had 
always been enabled to avoid the snares of his subtle enemies. 
Often when they had come with a party to take him, he escaped 
their lures, and after destroying his hut, on their return home- 
ward, some of their boldest warriors were picked off by his uner- 
ring aim — or, on arriving at their town, they learned that one 
of their swiftest hunters had been ambushed by hij^, and fallen 
a victim to his deadly rifle. He had lived in this way for several 
years, and had so often baffled them, that they had at last become 
weary of the pursuit, and, for some time, had left him unmolested. 


3 


Peabody’s leap. 


181 


About this time, a party of Indians made a descent on one of 
the small settlements, and had taken three men prisoners, whom 
they were carrying home to sacrifice, for the same number of their 
men that had been shot by Peabody. It was towards the close 
of day when they passed his abode ; most of the party in advance 
of the prisoners, who, with their hands tied, and escorted by five 
or six Indians, were almost wearied out by their long march, and 
just able to crawl along. He had observed this advance guard, 
and suspecting there were prisoners in the rear, had let them 
pass unmolested, intending to try some ^‘Yankee trick” to effect 
the rescue of the captives. 

He accordingly followed on in the trail of the party, keeping 
among the thick trees which on either side skirted the path. 
He had proceeded but a short disjtance, before he heard the sharp 
report of a rifle, apparently very near him, and which he knew 
must be one of the Indians, who had strolled from the main body, 
to procure some game for their evening meal. From his ac- 
quaintance with their habits and language, he only needed a dis- 
guise, to enable him to join with the party if necessary, and aided 
by the darkness, which was fast approaching, with but little dan- 
ger of detection. The resolution was quickly formed, and as 
quickly put into operation, to kill this Indian and procure his 
dress. 

He had got but a few paces before he discovered his intended 
victim, who had just finished loading his rifle. To stand forth 
and boldly confront him, would give the savage an equal chance, 
and if Tim proved the best shot, the party on hearing the report 
of two rifles at once, would be alarmed and commence a pursuit. 
The chance was, therefore, two to one against him, and he was 
obliged to contrive a way to make the Indian fire first. Planting 
himself, then, behind a large tree, he took off his fox-skin cap, 
and placing it on the end of his rifle, began to move it to and 
fro. The Indian quickly discovered it, and was not at a loss to 
recollect the owner by the cap. 

Knowing how often the white warrior had eluded them, he 
determined to despatch him at once, and without giving him 
notice of his dangerous proximity, he instantly raised his rifle, 
and its contents went whizzing through the air. The ball just 
touched the bark of the tree, and pierced the cap, which rose 
suddenly, like the death-spring of the beaver, and then fell amid 
the bushes. The Indian, like a true sportsman, thinking himself 
sure of his victim, did not go to pick up his game till he had 
reloaded his piece, and dropping it to the ground, he vras calmly 
proceeding in the operation, when Timothy as calmly stepped 
16 


182 


Peabody’s leap. 

from his hiding-pJace, exclaiming — you tarnal kritter, 
prayers as fast as ever you can.^’ 

This was a short notice for the poor Indian. Before him, and 
scarcely ten paces distant, stood the tall form of Peabody, mo- 
tionless as a statue — his rifle to his shoulder — his finger on the 
trigger, and his deadly aim firmly fixed upon him. He was 
about to run, but he had not time to turn round, ere the swift- 
winged messenger had taken his flight ; his first moment was his 
last— the ball pierced his side — he sprang in the air, and fell 
lifeless on the ground. 

No time was nuvv to be lost. He immediately proceeded to 
strip the dead body, and to array himself in the accoutrements, 
consisting of a hunting-shirt, a pair of moccasins, or leggings, 
and the wampum-belt and knife. A little of the blood besmeared 
on his sunburnt countenance served for the red paint, and it 
would have taken a keen eye, in the gray twilight and thick gloom 
of the surrounding forest, to have detected the counterfeit Indian. 
Shouldering his rifle, he again started in the pursuit, and fol- 
lowed them till they arrived in the glen, where their canoes were 
secreted. Here they stopped, and began to make preparations 
for their expected supper, previous to their embarkation for the 
opposite shore. The canoes were launched, and their baggage 
deposited in them. A fire was blazing brightly, and the party 
were walking around, impatiently waiting the return of the hunter. 

The body of Timothy was safely deposited behind a fallen tree, 
where he could see every motion, and hear every word spoken in 
the circle. Here he had been about half an hour. Night had 
drawn her sable curtain around the scene or, in other words, 
it was dark. The moon shone fitfully through the clouds which 
almost covered the horizon, only serving occasionally to render 
the darkness visible.” The Indians now began to evince mani- 
fest signs of impatience for the return of their comrade. They 
feared that a party of whites had followed them, and taken him 
prisoner, and at last resolved to go in search of him. The plan, 
which was fortunately overheard by Timothy, was to put the 
captives into one of the canoes, under the care of five of their 
number, who were to secrete themselves in case of an attack, 
massacre the . prisoners, and then go to the assistance of their 
brethren. 

As soon as the main body Lad started, Peabody cautiously crept 
from his hiding-place to the water, and sliding in feet foremost, 
moved along on his back, his face just above the surface, to the 
canoe which contained the rifles of the guard. The priming was 
quickly removed from these, and their powder-horns emptied, 


PEABODY^S LEAP. 


183 


replaced, and the prisoners given notice of their intended rescue ; 
at the same time warning them not to show themselves above the 
gunwale till they were in safety. He next, with his Indian knife, 
separated the thong which held the canoe to the shore, intending 
to swim off with it, till he had got far enough to avoid observa- 
tion, then get in, and paddle for the nearest place where a landing 
; could be effected. 

All this was but the work of a moment, and he was slowly 
moving off from the shore, as yet unobserved by the guard, who 
little expected an attack from this side. But, unfortunately, his 
rifle had been left behind, and he was resolved not to part with 
^^old plumper,^ ^ as he called it, without at least one effort to recover 
it. He immediately gave the captives notice of his intention, 
i and directed them to paddle slowly and silently out, and in going 
I past the head-land, to approach as near as possible, and there 
i await his coming. 

The guard, by this time, had secreted themselves, and one of 
the number had chosen the same place which Timothy himself 
had previously occupied, near which he had left his old friend. 
He had almost got to the spot, when the Indian discovered the 
rifle, grasped it, and springing upon his feet, gave the alarm to 
his companions. Quick as thought, Tim was upon him, seized 
the rifle, and wrenched it from him with such violence as to 
I throw him breathless on the ground. The rest of the Indians 
were alarmed, and, sounding the war-whoop, rushed upon him. 

It was a standard maxim with Timothy, that a good soldier 
never runs till he is obliged to,^^ and he now found that he should 
be under the necessity of suiting his practice to his theory. 
There was no time for deliberation ; he instantly knocked down 
the foremost with the butt of his rifle, and bounded away through 
the thicket like a startled deer. The three remaining Indians 
made for the canoe in which the rifles were deposited, already 
rendered harmless by the precaution of Timothy. This gave him 
a good advantage, which was not altogether unnecessary, as he 
was much encumbered with his wet clothes, and before he reached 
the goal, he could hear them snapping the dry twigs close behind 
him. The main body had likewise got the alarm, and were but 
a short distance from him when he reached the head-land. Those 
who were nearest, he did not fear, unless they came to close 
action, and he resolved to send one more of them to his long 
home, before he leaped from the precipice. 

It’s a burning shame to wet so much powder,^ ^ exclaimed he, 
ITl have one more pop at the tarnal red-skins.^^ Tim’s position 
was quickly arranged to put his threat in execution. His rifle 


184 revolutionary reminiscence. 

was presented, his eye glanced along its barrel, and the first one 
that showed his head received its deadly contents. • In an instant 
Tim was in the water, making for the canoe. The whole party 
had by this time come up, and commenced a brisk fire upon the 
fugitives. Tim stood erect in the canoe, shouting in the voice 
of a Stentor, ^^Ye'd better take care, yTl spile the skiff. Old 
plumper’s safe, and youTl feel him yet, I tell ye ^ They were 
quickly lost in darkness, and, taking a small circuit, effected a 
landing in safety. Many a man’s life verified his last threat, and 
Peabody lived to a good old age, having often related to his 
friends and neighbors the adventure which gave to this place the 
name of Peabody’s Leap.’^ 


REYOLUTIONARY EEMINISCENCE. 

In the early part of the revolutionary war, a sergeant and 
twelve armed men undertook a journey through the wilderness in 
the State of New Hampshire. Their route was remote from any 
settlements, and they were under the necessity of encamping over 
night in the woods. In the early part of our struggle for inde- 
pendence, the Indians were numerous, and did not stand idle 
spectators to a conflict carried on with so much zeal and ardor by 
the whites. 

Some tribes were friendly to our cause, while many upon our 
border took part with the enemy, and were very troublesome in 
their savage kind of warfare, as our countrymen often learned 
from the woful experience of their midnight depredations. The 
leader of the above-mentioned party was well acquainted with 
different tribes ; and . from much intercourse with them previous 
to the war, was not ignorant of the idiom, physiognomy, and dress 
of each, and at the commencement of hostilities was informed for 
which party they had raised the hatchet. 

Nothing material happened the first day of their excursion; 
but early in the afternoon of the second, they, from an eminence, 
discovered a body of armed Indians advancing towards them, 
whose number rather exceeded their own. As soon as the whites 
were perceived by their red brethren, the latter made signals, and 
the two parties approached each other in an amicable manner. 
The Indians appeared to be much gratified with meeting the ser- 
geant and his men, whom they observed they considered as their 
protectors; said they belonged to a tribe which had raised the 
hatchet with zeal in the cause of liberty, and were determined to 


REVOLUTIONARY REMINISCENCE. 


185 


do all in their power to injure the common enemy. They shook 
hands in friendship, and it was, ^^How d^ye diOj pro? how d^ye 
do, j)ro?'^ that being their pronunciation of the word brother. 

When they had conversed with each other for some time and 
exchanged mutual good wishes, they at length separated, and each 
party travelled in different directions. After proceeding to the 
distance of a mile or more, the sergeant halted his men, and ad- 
dressed them in the following words : My brave companions, we 

must use the utmost caution, or this night may be our last. Should 
we not make some extraordinary exertions to defend ourselves, to- 
morrow’s sun may find us sleeping never to wake. You are sur- 
prised, comrades, at my words; and your anxiety will not be 
lessened when I inform you that we have just passed our most 
inveterate foe, who, under the mask of pretended friendship you 
have witnessed, would lull us into security, and by such means, 
in the unguarded moments of our midnight slumber, without re- 
sistance, seal our fate.” 

The men with astonishment listened to this short harangue; 
and their surprise was greater, as not one of them had entertained 
the suspicion but they had just encountered friends. They all 
immediately resolved to enter into some scheme for their mutual 
preservation and the destruction of their enemies. By the pro- 
posal of their leader, the following plan was adopted and executed. 

The spot selected for their night’s encampment was near a 
stream of water, which served to cover their rear. They felled a 
large tree, before which, on the approach of night, a brilliant fire 
was lighted. Each individual cut a log of wood about the size 
of his body, rolled it nicely in his blanket, placed his hat upon 
the extremity, and laid it before the fire, that the enemy might 
be deceived, and mistake it for a man. After logs equal in num- 
ber to the sergeant’s party were thus fitted out, and so artfully 
arranged that they might easily be mistaken for so many soldiers, 
the men with loaded muskets placed themselves behind the fallen 
tree, by which time the shades of the evening began to close 
around. The fire was supplied with fuel, and kept burning bril- 
liantly until late in the evening, when it was suffered to decline. 
The critical time was now approaching, when an attack might be 
expected from the Indians; but the sergeant’s men rested in their 
places of concealment with great anxiety till near midnight, with- 
out perceiving any movement of the enemy. 

At length a tall Indian was discovered, through the glimmering 
of the fire, (which was now getting low,) cautiously moving to- 
wards them, making no noise, and apparently using every means 
in his power to conceal himself from any one about the camp. 

16 * 


186 


THE LAST SHOT. 


For a time, his actions showed him to be suspicious that a guard 
might be stationed to watch any unusual appearance, who would 
give the alarm in case of danger; but all appearing quiet, he ven- 
tured forward more boldly, rested upon his toes, and was distinctly 
seen to move his finger as he numbered each log of wood, or what 
he supposed to be a human being quietly enjoying repose. 

To satisfy himself more fully as to the number, he counted them 
over a second time and cautiously retired. He was succeeded by 
another Indian, who went through the same movements and re- 
tired in the same manner. Soon after the whole party, sixteen 
in number, were discovered, cautiously approaching, and greedily 
eyeing their supposed victims. The feelings of the sergeant’s men 
can better be imagined than described, when they saw the base 
and cruel purposes of their enemies, who were now so near that 
they could scarcely be restrained from firing upon them. The 
plan, however, of the sergeant was, to have his men remain silent 
in their places of concealment till the muskets of the savages were 
discharged, that their own fire might be more effectual and oppo- 
sition less formidable. 

The suspense was not of long duration. The Indians, in a 
body, cautiously approached, till within a short distance; they 
then halted, took deliberate aim, discharged their pieces upon in- 
animate logSj gave the dreadful war-whoop and instantly rushed 
forward with tomahawk and scalping-knife in hand to despatch 
the living and obtain the scalps of the dead. As soon as they 
had collected in close order, more effectually to execute these 
horrid intentions, the party of the sergeant, with unerring aim, 
discharged their pieces, not on logs of wood, but on perfidious 
savages, not one of whom escaped destruction by the snare into 
which their cowardly and bloodthirsty dispositions had led them. 


THE LAST SHOT. 

I HAVE been down to Kedbank, on the Jersey side of the 
Delaware, below Philadelphia, to look at the remains of that little 
fortress, within whose rudely-constructed walls so terrible a blow 
was given to British courage. Only a few remains of that me- 
morable fort are now to be seen. The breastworks are nearly 
levelled to the earth, and over some, the ploughshare of the in- 
dustrious farmer has already passed. Nothing but a few mis- 
shapen mounds are visible to point out to the stranger the site 
where so much blood was spilt, where so many gallant spirits 


THE LAST SHOT. 


187 


breathed their last. The neighboring farmer, however, will point 
you to the battle-ground. His house stood within pistol-shot of 
the fort, and during the attack, the balls whistled around his roof 
in shrill and frequent showers. He will tell you all that can now 
be told of it. He saw the battle from his farm-house; he saw 
the foreign foe advance ; he heard their shout as they entered the 
outer-wall, and in a moment after, he saw them hurrying back, 
bearing with them the body of their lamented and ill-fated Honop. 

The fort at Redbank was thrown up hastily by a handful of 
Americans. They constructed two walls, or two forts, one within 
the other; the outer one of which was not completed when the 
enemy attacked it. At tho head of a chosen body of men, Honop 
entered the outer wall, and thinking the fort taken by surprise, 
gave a shout of exultation, which was re-echoed by his men. 
They entered with shouldered arms. The feeble garrison, com- 
manded by the gallant Greene, opened at once a brisk and mur- 
derous fire. I knew a Jerseyman who was in the fortress. He 
told me every particular. 

The narrow limits in which the assailants were confined, and 
the unlooked-for repulse, threw them into irremediable confusion. 
They fired a few shots, and hastily retired, just as the Americans 
had fired their eighth round of ammunition — and they had but 
nine rounds to a man. As the enemy turned about, a volunteer 
in the fort, whose musket had snapped, pulled the trigger a second 
time — the last shot from the fort — and the gallant, the mis- 
guided, the accomplished Honop fell, among a breastwork of his 
own dying men ! 

The enemy retreated to Philadelphia in the greatest confusion. 
Terrible slaughter had been made in their ranks, and they trem- 
bled for the whizzing of the next platoon of balls. Four pieces 
of brass cannon, which they brought to the assault, were either 
buried in the earth on their way home, or thrown into the neigh- 
boring creek. Searches have been made for them, but they are 
lost for ever. Honop was carried to the nearest farm-house, his 
wounds dressed, and consolation -given him. It was then that the 
gallant Hessian first saw his error. He was a mere hireling in 
the enemy’s ranks. He had no enmity to Americans, for he was 
of another country, and we had never injured him. 

Bitterly did he regret, in the agonies of that tremendous and 
humbling moment, that he had lent his aid to smother the burst- 
ing flame of freedom, and deeply did he weep over the ignominy 
of his end. He felt there was none to pity him. The British 
did not; for they paid his king for his services; his king did not, 
for his death insured to him a stipulated compensation ; and 


188 


BUNKER HILL MONUMENT. 


America could not, for lie was a chosen enemy. Thus did the 
dying count depict his situation, and cried, who might have 
flourished in the palaces of kings, am here, the victim of a mer- 
cenary bargain, left to die in a solitary hut, in the wilderness of 
\merica 

A solitary mound, with a bit of rough stone at the head, in the 
margin of a wood, is all that now remains to point the stranger 
to the grave of Count Donop. His name has been rudely carved 
upon it; but the wanton sportsman makes the melancholy me- 
mento his favorite mark, and a few summers more will do away 
the slightest trace of where he now reposes. Such, alas ! is mili- 
tary glory; such is the reward of dauntless bravery and misguided 
virtue ! 

The hickory on which the banner of our country floated on 
that memorable day is still rocked by the breeze that sweeps across 
our happy country. L(?ng may it flourish in undying prime ! I 
have cut a fragment from it, and it now stands before me in the 
fashion of an inkstand, from which the ink is drawn that wrote 
these transient reminiscences of that ever-memorable scene. 


BUNKER HILL MONUMENT. 

FROM AN ADDRESS ON LAYING ITS CORNER-STONE. 

We know that the record of illustrious actions is now safely 
deposited in the universal remembrance of mankind. We know 
that if we could cause this structure to ascend, not only till it 
reached the skies, but till it pierced them, its broad surface could 
still contain but part of that, which, in an age of knowledge, hath 
already been spread over the earth, and which history charges 
herself with making known to all future times. We know that 
no inscription on entablatures less broad than the earth itself, can 
carry information of the events we commemorate where it has not 
already gone ; and that no structure which shall not outlive the 
duration of letters and knowledge among men, can prolong the 
memorial. 

But our object is, by this edifice, to show our deep sense of 
the value and importance of the achievements of our ancestors ; 
and by presenting this work of gratitude to the eye, to keep 
alive similar sentiments, and to foster a similar regard to the 


BUNKER HILL MONUMENT. 


189 


principles of tlie Revolution. Human beings are composed not 
of reason only, but of imagination also, and sentiment; and that 
is neither wasted nor misapplied which is appropriated to the 
purpose of giving right direction to sentiments, and opening pro- 
per springs of feeling in the heart. 

Let it not be supposed that our object is to perpetuate nationa. 
hostility, or even to clierish a mere military spirit. It is higher, 
purer, nobler. We consecrate our work to the spirit of national 
independence, and we wish that the light of peace may rest upon 
it for ever. We rear a memorial of our conviction of the un- 
measured benefit which has been conferred on our land, and of 
the happy infiuences which have been produced, by the same 
events, on the general interests of mankind. 

W e come as Americans to mark a spot which must be for ever 
dear to us and our posterity. We ^^h that whosoever, in all 
coming time, shall turn his eyes hither, may behold that the place 
is not undistinguished where the first great battle of the Revolu- 
tion was fought. We wish that this structure may proclaim the 
magnitude and importance of that event to every class and every 
age. We wish that infancy may learn the purpose of its erection 
from maternal lips, and that weary and withered age may behold 
it, and be solaced by the recollections which it suggests. 

We wish that labor may look up here, and be proud in the 
midst of its toil. We wish that, in those days of disaster which, 
as they come upon all nations, must be expected to come on us 
also, desponding patriotism may turn its eyes hither, and be 
assured that the foundations of our national power still stand 
strong. We wish that this column, rising toward heaven among 
the pointed spires of so many temples dedicated to God, may 
contribute also to produce, in all minds, a pious feeling of de- 
pendence and gratitude. We wish, finally that the last object on 
the sight of him who leaves his native shore, and the first to 
gladden him who revisits it, may be something which shall remind 
him of the liberty and glory of his country. Let it rise till it 
meet the sun in his coming ; let the earliest light of morning 
gild it, and parting day linger and play upon its summit. 


•V 


190 


PUNKEE HILL SURVIVORS. 


TO THE SURVIVORS OF THE BATTLE OF 

BUNKER HILL. 

Venerable men ! you have come down to us from a former 
generation. Heaven has bounteously lengthened out your lives 
that you might behold this joyous day. You are now where you 
stood fifty years ago, this very hour, with your brothers and your 
neighbors, shoulder to shoulder, in the strife of your country. 
Behold how altered ! The same heavens are indeed over your 
heads; the same ocean rolls at your feet; but all else, how 
changed ! You hear now no roar of hostile cannon, you see no 
mixed volumes of smoke and flame rising from burning Charles- 
town. The ground strewed with the dead and the dying; the 
impetuous charge ; the steady and successful repulse ; the loud 
call to repeated assault *the summoning of all that is manly to 
repeated resistance ; a thousand bosoms freely bared in an instant 
to whatever of terror there may be in war and death ; all these 
you have witnessed, but you witness them no more. 

All is peace. The heights of yonder metropolis, its towers and 
roofs, which you then saw filled with wives, and children, and coun- 
trymen in distress and terror, and looking with unutterable emo- 
tions for the issue of the combat, have presented you to-day with 
the sight of its whole happy population, come out to welcome 
and greet you with a universal jubilee. Yonder proud ships, 
by a felicity of position appropriately lying at the foot of this 
mount, and seeming fondly to cling around it, are not means of 
annoyance to you, but your country’s own means of distinction 
and defence. 

All is peace; and God has granted you this sight of your 
country’s happiness, ere you slumber in the grave for ever. He 
has allowed you to behold and to partake the reward of your 
patriotic toils ; and he has allowed us, your sons and countrymen, 
to meet you here, and in the name of the present generation, in 
the name of your country, in the name of liberty, to thank you ! 

But, alas ! you are not all here ! Time and the sword have 
thinned your ranks. Prescott, Putnam, Stark, Brooks, Read, 
Pomeroy, Bridge ! our eyes seek for you in vain amidst this 
broken band. You are gathered to your fathers, and live only to 
your country in her grateful remembrance and your own bright 
example. But let us not too much grieve that you have met the 
common fate of men. You lived at least long enough to know 
that your work had been nobly and successfully accomplished. 
You lived to see your country’s independence established, and to 


BUNKER HILL SURVIVORS, 


191 


sheathe your swords from war. On the light of Liberty you saw 
arise the light of Peace, like 

another mom, 

Risen on the mid-noon — 

and the sky on which you closed your eyes was cloudless. 

But — ah ! — Him ! the first great martyr in this great cause ! 
Him ! the premature victim of his own self-devoting heart ! Him ! 
the head of our civil councils, and the destined leader of our 
military bands ; whom nothing brought hither but the unquench- 
able fire of his own spirit; him! cut olf by Providence in the 
hour of overwhelming anxiety and thick gloom ; falling ere he 
saw the star of his country rise ; pouring out his generous blood 
like water before he knew whether it would fertilize a land of 
freedom or of bondage ! how shall I struggle with the emotions 
that stifle the utterance of thy name! — Our poor work may 
perish ; but thine shall endure 1 This monument may moulder 
away ; the solid ground it rests upon may sink down to a level 
with the sea ; but thy memory shall not fail 1 Wheresoever 
among men a heart shall be found that beats to the transports of 
patriotism and liberty, its aspirations shall be to claim kindred 
with thy spirit I . . . 

Veterans! you are the remnant of many a well-fought field. 
You bring with you marks of honor from Trenton and Monmouth, 
from Yorktown, Camden, Bennington, and Saratoga. Veterans 
of half a century ! when in youthful days you put every thing at 
hazard in your country’s cause, good as that cause was, and san- 
guine as youth is, still your fondest hopes did not stretch onward 
to an hour like this ! At a period to which you could not rea- 
sonably have expected to arrive ; at a moment of national pros- 
perity, such as you could never have foreseen, you are now met 
here to enjoy the fellowship of old soldiers, and to receive the 
overflowings of a universal gratitude. 

But your agitated countenances and your heaving breasts 
inform me that even this is not an unmixed joy. I perceive that 
a tumult of contending feelings rushes upon you. The images 
of the dead, as well as the persons of the living, throng to your 
embraces. -The scene overwhelms you, and I turn from it. May 
the Father of all mercies smile upon your declining years and 
bless them ! 

And when you shall here have exchanged your embraces; when 
you shall once more have pressed the hands which have been so 
often extended to give succor in adversity, or grasped in the ex- 
ultation of victory ; then look abroad into this lovely land, which 


102 


THE FATE OF AXDRE. 


TOur TOuns valor defended, and mark the happiness with which i 
It is filled • vea. look abroad into the whole earth, and see what a 
name von have contributed to give to your country, and what a 
praise Vou have added to freedom, and then rejoice in the sym- 
pathy and gratitude which beam upon your last days from the 
improved condition of mankind. 


r 


THE FATE OF AXDRE. 

Never, perhaps, did any man suffer death with more justice, 
or deserve it less. The first step he took, after his capture, was 
to write a letter to Genend Washington, conceived in terms of 
dignitv without insolence, and apology without meanness. The 
scope of it, was to vindicate himself from the imputation of hav- 
ing assumed a mean character for treacherous or interested pur- 
poses ; assening that he had been involuntarily an impostor, that 
contrary to his intention, which was to meet a person for intelli- 
gence on neutral ground, he had been betrayed within our posts, 
and forced into the vile condition of an enemv in disguise : soli- 
citing only, that, to whatever rigor policy might devote him, a 
decency of treatment might be observed, due to a person, who, 
thouerh unfortunate, had been eruiltv of nothing dishonorable. 

His request was granted in its full extent; for, in the whole 
progress of the affair, he was treated with the most scrupulous 
delicacv. When brought before the Board of officers, he met 
with every mark of indulgence, and was required to answer no 
interrogatorv which could even embarrass his feelings. On his 
part, while he carefullv concealed everv thing that might involve 
others, he frankly confessed all the facts relating to himself ; and, 
upon his confession, without the trouble of examining a witness, 
the board made their report. 

The members of it were not more impressed with the candor 
and firmness, mixed with a becoming scnsibilitv, which he dis- 
played, than he was penetrated with their liberality and politeness. 
He acknowledged the generositv of the behaviour toward him in 
every respect, but particularly in this, in the strongest terms of 
manly gratitude. In a conversation with a gentleman who visited 
him alter his trial, he said he fiattered himself he had never been 
illiberal; but if there were any remains of prejudice in his mind, 
his present experience must obliterate them. 

In one of the visits I made to him, (and I saw him several 
times during his confinement,) he begged me to be the bearer of 


o 

r 




i 

i 




I 

I 

I 


THE FATE OF ANDRE, 


193 




y 




a request to the general, for permission to send an open letter to 
Sir Henry Clinton, foresee my fate,'^ said he, ^^and though 
I pretend not to play the hero, or to be indifferent about life, yet 
I am reconciled to whatever may happen, conscious that misfor- 
tune, not guilt, has brought it upon me. There is only one thing 
that disturbs my tranquillity. Sir Henry Clinton has been too 
good to me; he has been lavish of his kindness. I am bound to 
him by too many obligations, and love him too well, to bear the 
thought that he should reproach himself, or that others should 
reproach him, on the supposition of my having conceived myself 
obliged, by his instructions, to run the risk I did. I would not, 
for the world, leave a sting in his mind that should embitter his 
future days.^^ 

He could scarce finish the sentence, bursting into tears in spite 
of his efibrts to suppress them; and with difiiculty collected him- 
self enough afterward to add : I wish to be permitted to assure 

him, I did not act under this impression, but submitted to a ne- 
cessity imposed upon me, as contrary to my own inclination as to 
his orders.^ ^ His request was readily complied with ; and he wrote 
a letter to Sir Henry Clinton, exonerating him from all blame in 
regard to the instructions which he had given. 

When his sentence was announced to him, he remarked, that 
since it was his lot to die, there was still a choice in the mode, 
which would make a material difference in his feelings ; and he 
would be happy, if possible, to be indulged with a professional 
death. He made a second application, by letter, in concise but 
persuasive terms. It was thought this indulgence, being incom- 
patible with the customs of war, could not be granted ; and it was 
therefore determined, in both cases, to evade an answer, to spare 
him the sensations which a certain knowledge of the intended 
mode would inflict. 

In going to the place of execution, he bowed familiarly, as he 
went along, to all those with whom he had been acquainted in his 
confinement. A smile of complacency expressed the serene for- 
titude of his mind. Arrived at the fatal spot, he asked, with 
some emotion, ^Olust I then die in this manner He was told 
it had been unavoidable. I am reconciled to my fate,'' said he, 
^^but not to the mode." Soon, however, recollecting himself, he 
added : It will be but a momentary pang;" and, springing upon 

the cart, performed the last offices to himself, with a composure 
that excited the admiration and melted the hearts of the beholders. 
Upon being told the final moment was at hand, and asked if he 
had anything to say, he answered, ‘^Nothing, but to request you 
will witness to the world, that I die like a brave, man." Among 
17 


194 


THE FATE OF ANDRE. 


the extraordinarv circumstances that attended him, in the midst 
of his encmies/lie died universally esteemed aud universally re- 
gretted. 

There was something singularly interesting in the character and 
fortunes of Andre. To an excellent understanding, well improved 
by education and travel, he united a peculiar elegance of mind 
aud manners, aud the advantage of a pleasing person. 'Tis said 
he possessed a pretty taste for the fine arts, and had himself at- 
fiiined some proficiency in poetr}^, music, and painting. His 
knowledge appeared without ostentation, and embellished by a 
diffidence that rarely accompanies so many talents and accomplish- 
ments ; which left you to suppose more than appeared. 

His sentiments were elevated, and inspired esteem; they had 
a softness that conciliated affection. His elocution was handsome ; 
his address easy, polite, and insinuating. By his merit, he had 
acquired the unlimited confidence of his general, and was making 
a rapid progress in military rank and reputation. But in the 
height of his career, flushed with new hopes from the execution 
of a project, the most beneficial to his party that could be devised, 
he was at once precipitated from the summit of prosperity, and 
saw all the expectations of his ambition blasted, and himself ruined. 

The character I have given of him is drawn partly from what 
I saw of him myself, and partly from information. I am aware 
that a man of real merit is never seen in so favorable a light as 
through the medium of advei'sity : the clouds that surround him 
are shades that set off' his good qualities. Misfortune cuts down 
the little vanities that, in prosperous times, serxe as so many spots 
in his virtues ; and gives a tone of humility that makes his worth 
more amiable. His spectators, who enjoy a happier lot, are less 
prone to detract from it, through envy, and are more disposed, by 
compassion, to give him the credit he deserves, and perhaps even 
to magnify it. 

I speak not of Andre’s conduct in this affair as a philosopher, 
but as a man of the world. The authorized maxims and practices 
of war are the satires of human nature. They countenance almost 
every species of seduction as well as violence; and the general 
who can make most traitoi's in the army of his adversary, is fre- 
quently most applauded. On this scale we acquit Andre; while 
we could not but condemn him, if we were to examine his con- 
duct by the sober rules of philosophy and moral rectitude. It is, 
however, a blemish on his fame, that he once intended to prosti- 
tute a flag : about this, a man of nice honor ought to have had a 

scruplej but the temptation was great; let his misfortunes cast a 
veil over his error. 


ELOQUENCE OF PATRICK HENRY. 


195 


ELOQUENCE OF PATRICK HENRY. 

Hook was a Scotchman, a man of wealth, and suspected of 
being unfriendly to the American cause. During the distresses 
of the American army, consequent on the joint invasion of Corn- 
wallis and Phillips, in 1781, a Mr. Venable, an army commissary, 
had taken two of Hookas steers for the use of the troops. The 
act had not been strictly legal ; and on the establishment of peace. 
Hook, on the advice of Mr. Cowan, a gentleman of some distinc- 
tion in the law, thought proper to bring an action of trespass 
against Mr. Venable, in the District Court of New London. Mr. 
Henry appeared for the defendant, and is said to have deported 
himself in this cause to the infinite enjoyment of his hearers, the 
unfortunate Hook always excepted. 

After Mr. Henry became animated in the cause, says a corre- 
spondent, he appeared to have complete control over the passions 
of the audience. At one time he excited their indignation against 
Hook — vengeance was visible in every countenance. Again, 
when he chose to relax, and ridicule him, the whole audience was 
in a roar of laughter. He painted the distresses of the American 
army, exposed almost naked to the rigor of a winter’s sky, and 
marking the frozen ground over which they trod with the blood 
of their unshod feet. 

^AVhere was the man, who had an American heart in his bo- 
som, who would not have thrown open his fields, his barn, his 
cellars, the doors of his house, and the portals of his breast, to 
have received with open anns, the meanest soldier in that little 
band of patriots? Where is the man? There he stands — but 
whatever of the heart of the American beats in his bosom, you, 
gentlemen, are to be the judge.” He carried the jury, by the 
power of his imagination, to the plains around York, the surren- 
der of which had followed shortly after the act complained of. 
He depicted the surrender in the most glowing and noble colors. 
The audience saw before their eyes the humiliation and dejection 
. of the British as they marched out of their trenches. 

They saw the triumph which lighted up every patriot’s face, 
and heard the shouts of victory, and the cry of “ Washington 
and Liberty,” as it rung and echoed through the American ranks, 
and was reverberated from the hills and shores of the neighbor- 
ing river — “But, hark ! What notes of discord are these, which 
disturb the general joy, and silence the acclamations of victory ? 
They are the notes of John Hook, hoarsely bawling through the 
American camp, Beef! heef 


196 


LEXINGTON. 


The whole audience was convulsed. A particular incident will 
give a better idea of the effect than any general description. The 
clerk of the court, unable to command himself, and unwilling to 
commit any breach of decorum in his place, rushed out of the 
court-house and threw himself upon the grass, in the most violent 
paroxysms of laughter, where he was rolling, when Hook, with 
very different feelings, came out for relief in the yard also. 

Jemmy Steptoe,^^ said he to the clerk, “ what the devil ails ye, 
mon Mr. Steptoe could only say that he could not help it. 

Never mind ye,^^ said Hook, ^^wait till Billy Cowan gets up; 
hedl show him the la^ 

Mr. Cowan, however, was so completely overwhelmed by the 
torrent which bore upon his client, that, when he arose to reply 
to Mr. Henry, he was scarcely able to make an intelligible or 
audible remark. The cause was decided almost by acclamation. 
The jury retired for formas sake, and instantly returned with a 
verdict for the defendant. Nor did the effect of Mr. Henryks 
speech stop here. The people were so highly excited by the 
tory audacity of such a suit, that Hook began to hear around him 
a cry more terrible than that of Lee / — it was the cry of tar and 
feathers — from the application of which, it is said, nothing 
saved him but a precipitate flight and the speed of his horse. 


LEXINGTON. 

Slowly the mist o’er the meadow was creeping, 

Bright on the dewy buds glisten’d the sun, 

When from his couch — while his children were sleeping— 
Rose the bold rebel and shoulder’d his gun. 

Waving her golden veil 
Over the silent dale, 

Blithe look’d the morning on cottage and spire; 

Hush’d was his parting sigh. 

While from his noble eye 
Flash’d the last sparkle of Liberty’s Are. 

On the smooth green where the fresh leaf is springing 
Calmly the first-born of glory have met: 

Hark ! the death-volley around them is ringing — 

Look ! with their life-blood the young grass is wet. 
Faint is the feeble breath, . 

Murmuring low in death — 

** Tell to our sons how their fathers have died;” 

Nerveless the iron hand. 

Raised for its native land. 

Lies by the weapon that gleams at its side. 


LEXINGTON. 


197 


Ovnr the hillsides the wild knell is tolling, 

From their far hamlets the yeomanry come ; 

As thn/ the storm-clouds the thunder-burst rolling, 
Circles the beat of the musterinor drum. 

Fast on the soldier^s path 
Darken the waves of wrath ; 

Long have they gather^, and loud shall they fall : 
Red glares the muskeFs flash, 

Sharp rings the rifle^s crash. 

Blazing and clanging from thicket and wall. 


Gayly the plume of the horseman was dancing, 
Never to shadow his cold brow again ; 

Proudly at morning the war-steed was prancing. 
Reeking and panting he droops on the rein ; 
Pale is the lip of scorn. 

Voiceless the trumpet-horn 
Torn is the silken-fringM red cross on high ; 
Many a belted breast 
Low on the turf shall rest. 

Ere the dark hunters the herd have passM by. 


Snow-girdled crags where the hoarse wind is raving 
Rocks where the weary floods murmur and wail, 
Wilds where the fern by the furrow is waving, 
ReeFd with the echoes that rode on the gale ; 

Far as the tempest thrills 
Over the darkenM hills. 

Far as the sunshine streams over the plain. 

Roused by the tyrant band. 

Woke all the mighty land, 

Girded for battle, from mountain to main. 


Green be the graves where her martyrs are lying! 

Shroudless and tombless they sunk to their rest; 
Wliile o’er their ashes the starry fold flying. 

Wraps the proud eagle they roused from his nest. 
Borne on her northern pine. 

Long o’er the foaming brine 
Spread her broad banner to storm and to sun ; 
Heaven keep her ever free 
AVide as o’er land and sea 
Floats the fair emblem her heroes have won I 


. 17 * 


198 


FOR THE FOURTH OF JULY. 


FOR THE FOURTH OF JULY. 

Day of glory! welcome day! 

Freedom's banners greet thy ray; 

See ! how cheerfully they play 
With thy morning breeze, 

On the rocks where pilgrims kneelM, 

On the heights where squadrons wheel’d, 
When a tyrant’s thunder peal’d 
O’er the trembling seas. 


God of armies ! did thy ** stars 
In their courses” smite his cars, 
Blast his arm, and wrest his bars 
From the heaving tide? 

On our standard, lo I they burn, 
And, when days like this return, 
Sparkle o’er the soldiers’ urn 
Who for freedom died. 


God of peace ! — whose spirit fills 
All the echoes of our hills. 

All the murmurs of our rills, 
Now the storm is o’er; — 

0, let freemen be our sons ; 

And let future Washingtons 
Rise, to lead their valiant ones, 
Till there’s war no more. 


By the patriot’s hallow’d rest. 

By the warrior’s gory breast, — 
Never let our graves be press’d 
By a despot’s throne ; 

By the Pilgrims’ toils and cares, 
By their battles and their prayers, 
By their ashes, — let our heirs 
Bow to Thee alone I 


BATTLE OF BUNKER'S HILL. 


199 


AMERICAN INDEPENDENCE. 

Hail to the planting of Liberty’s tree ! 

Hail to the charter declaring us free ! 

Millions of voices are chanting its praises, 

Millions of worshippers bend at its shrine, 

Wherever the sun of America blazes, 

Wherever the stars of our bright banner shine. 

Sing to the heroes who breasted the flood 

That, swelling, rolled o’er them — a deluge of blood. 

Fearless they clung to the ark of the nation, 

And dashed on ’mid lightning, and thunder, and blast, 
Till Peace, like the dove, brought her branch of salvation. 
And Liberty’s mount was their refuge at last. 

Bright is the beautiful land of our birth. 

The home of the homeless all over the earth. 

Oh ! let us ever with fondest devotion. 

The freedom our fathers bequeathed us, watch o’er. 
Till the Angel shall stand on the earth and the ocean. 
And shout ’mid earth’s ruins, that Time is no more. 


BATTLE OF BUNKER^S HILL. 

The day was clear • not a cloud rested on the summer heavens, 
and the heated earth seemed to pant under the fierce rays of the 
noonday sun. As General Putnam stood and gazed with a stern, 
yet anxious eye, a scene presented itself that might have moved 
the boldest heart. The British army had crossed the channel, 
and now stood in battle array on the shore. In the intervals of 
che roar of artillery, which played furiously from Moreton’s Hill, 
were heard the thrilling strains of martial music, and the stirring 
blast of the bugle, while plumes danced and standards waved in 
the sunlight, and nearly five thousand bayonets gleamed and 
shook over the dark mass below. J ust then a solitary horseman, 
of slender form, was seen moving swiftly over Bunker’s Hill, and 
making straight for Putnam. 

It was General Warren, the gallant and noble-hearted 'Warren, 
who had gazed on that silent redoubt, and his brave brethren 
there, till he could no longer restrain his feelings, and had come 
to share their fate. Putnam, with that generosity for which he 
was remarkable, immediately offered to put himself under his 


<1 


200 BATTLE or BUNKER^S HILL. 

orders. said Warren, come as a volunteer, to show 

those rascals that the Yankees can fight. Where shall I be most 
needed The former pointed to the redoubt as the most covered 
spot. ^^Tell said Warren, while his lips quivered with the 
excitement, where the onset will he heaviest.’^ Go. then, to 
the redoubt,^^ said Putnam ) Prescott is there, and will do his 
duty; if we can hold that, the day is ours.'^ Away galloped 
Warren, and as he dashed up to the intrenchments, a loud huzza 
rent the air, and rolled in joyful accents along the lines. 

Nothing could exceed the grandeur and excitement of the scene 
at this moment. Strung over that hill and out of sight lay fifteen 
hundred sons of Liberty, coolly awaiting the onset of the veteran 
thousands of England, and sternly resolved to prove worthy of 
the high destinies intrusted to their care. The roofs of the 
houses of Boston, the shores, and every church steeple, were 
black with spectators, looking now on the forming columns upon 
the shore, and now at the silent intrenchments that spanned the 
heights. Many of them had sons, and brothers, and husbands, 
and lovers on the hill, and the hearts of all swelled high or sank 
low, with alternate hope and fear, as they thought of the strength 
and terror of the coming shock. 0 ! how the earnest prayer 
went up to heaven, and with what intense love and longing each 
heart turned to that silent redoubt. 

At length the English began to advance in two dense columns. 
Putnam then rode along the lines, kindling the enthusiasm of 
the men, already roused to the highest pitch, and ordered them 
to hold their fire until the enemy was within eight rods, and 
then aim at their icaisthands. On came the steady battalions, 
ever and anon halting to let the artillery play on the intrench- 
ments, and then advancing in the most perfect order and beautiful 
array. To the spectator, that artillery appeared like moving spots 
of flame and smoke ascending the slope, but not a sound broke 
the ominous and death-like silence that reigned round the heights. 
But for the flags that drooped in the hot summer air over the 
redoubt, you would have deemed it deserted. But flashing eyes 
were then bent in wrath on the enemy, as silowly and steadily 
they ascended the hill, and closed sternly in for the death struggle. 

They were noble troops — and as, in perfect order, with their 
gay stajidards and polished bayonets floating and flashing in the 
sun, they advanced nearer and nearer, their appearance was im- 
posing in the extreme. Stopping every few yards, they delivered 
their deep and regular volleys on the embankments, but not a 
shot replied. That silence was more awful than the thunder of 
cannon, for it told of earnage and death slumbering there. At 


BATTLE OF BUNKER^S HILL. 


201 


length, when the hostile columns were almost against the intrench- 
ments, the signal was given, and the stern order Fire’^ rung 
with startling clearness on the air. A sheet of flame replied, 
running like a flash of light along that low, dark wall, and the 
front rank of the foe went down, as if suddenly ingulfed in the 
earth. 

But those behind, treading over their dead companions, pressed 
steadily forward, yet the same tempest of fire smote their bosoms, 
and they sank amid their fallen comrades. Still the steady bat- 
talions nobly struggled to bear up against the deadly sleet, but 
all in vain ; rank after rank went down, like the sand-bank as it 
caves over the stream, and at length, furious with rage and 
despair, the whole army broke and fled for the shore. Then 
went up a long and loud huzza from that little redoubt, which 
was echoed the whole length of the lines, and answered by thou- 
sands of voices from the roofs and steeples and heights of Boston. 

The discomfited troops never halted till they reached the shore, 
where their commanders attempted to rally them. While they 
were seen riding to and fro amid the broken ranks, Putnam put 
spurs to his horse and galloped off, in his shirt-sleeves, after rein- 
forcements. But the Neck, over which they must pass, was now 
swept by such a galling fire, that they refused to stir. Carried 
away by his intense anxiety, he rode backward and forward 
several times, to show there was no danger, while the balls 
ploughed up the earth in furrows around him : but few, however, 
could be induced to follow, and he hastened back to the scene of 
action. 

The spectacle the hill now presented was terrific beyond 
description. That redoubt was silent again, while the dead and 
dying lay in ghastly rows near its base. The imposing columns 
were again on the march, while Charlestown, which in the interval 
had been set on fire by the enemy, presented a new feature in the 
appalling scene. The roar and crackling of the flames were 
distinctly heard in the American lines, and the smoke in immense 
volumes rolled fast and furious heavenward, blotting ouf the sun, 
and shedding a strange and lurid light on the dead-covered field. 
The British commander fondly hoped that the smoke would 
involve the heights, confusing the deadly aim of the Americans, 
and covering the assault; but the blessed breeze changing, 
inclined it gently seaward, leaving the battle-field unobscured, 
and open as ever. 

Again the drums beat their hurried charge, and the columns 
pressed gallantly forward. Advancing more rapidly than before, 
they halted only to pour in their heavy volleys, and then hurrying 


202 BATTLE OP bunker’s HILL. 

on over tlieir dead and wounded companions, who had fallen in 
the first assault, seemed about to sweep in a resistless fiood over 
the intrenchments. On, on they came, shaking the heights with 
their heavy muffled tread, till they stood breast to breast with 
that silent redoubt, when suddenly it again gaped and shot forth 
flame like some huge monster. For a moment it seemed as if 
the atmosphere were an element of fire. It was a perfect hurri- 
cane of fire and lead, and the firm-set ranks disappeared like mist 
in its path. 

The living still strove manfully to stem the fight, and the reel- 
ing ranks bore up for a while amid the carnage, led by as brave 
officers as ever cheered men on to death. But that fiery sleet 
kept driving full in their faces, smiting them down rank after 
rank, with such fearful rapidity, that the bravest gave way. The 
lines bent backward, then sprung to their places again, again 
rolled back — till at last, riddled through and through by that 
astonishing fire, the whole mass gave way like a loosened cliff, and 
broke furiously down the hill. Again the triumphant huzzas” 
rocked the heights, and the slopes of that hill turned red with 
flowing blood. 

A sudden silence followed this strange uproar, broken only by 
the smothered groans and cries of the wounded, lying almost 
within reach of the redoubt. On that fatal shore the English 
commanders rallied for the third and last time their disordered 
troops, while the Americans, burning with indignation and dis- 
appointment, drove home their last cartridges. The scene, the 
hour, the immense results at stake, all combined now to fill the 
bosom of every spectator with emotions of the deepest sadness, 
anxiety and fear. The smoke of battle hung in light wreaths 
round that dark redoubt, while, near by, Charlestown was one 
mass of billowy flame and smoke. The slope in front of the 
breastwork was spotted with the slain, and ever and anon came 
the booming of cannon as they still thundered on the American 
intrenchments. The sun, now stooping to the western horizon, 
bathed that hill-top in its gentle light, and the mild summer . 
evening was hastening on. The hills looked green and beautiful 
in the distance — all Nature was at rest, and it seemed impossible 
that such carnage had existed there a moment before. 

But another sight soon arrested every eye : the re-formed ranks ! 
of the enemy were again in motion. Throwing aside their knap- 
sacks to lighten their burdens, and reserving their fire, the Jj 
soldiers, with fixed bayonets, marched swiftly and steadily over 
the slope, and up to the very intrenchments. Only one v 
smote them, for the Americans^ alas ! had fired their last 





A ROMANTIO INCIDENT. 


203 


tridges, and, worse than all, were without bayonets ! Clubbing 
their muskets, however, they still beat back the enemy, when the 
reluctant order to retreat was given. The gallant fellows behind 
the hay and fence below still maintained their ground, and thus 
saved the rest of the army. Putnam, riding amid the men, and 
waving his sword over his head, endeavored to make them rally 
again on BunkePs Hill. 

Finding all his efforts vain, he burst forth in a torrent of indig- 
nation. His stout heart could not endure that the day, so nobly 
battled for, should be lost at last. He rode between them and 
the enemy, before which they fled, and there stood in the hottest 
of the fire. But neither words nor example could stay their flight. 
Without ammunition, or bayonets, or breastwork, it was a hope- 
less task. Warren, too, interposed his slender form between his 
own troops and those of the British. Moving slowly down the 
western declivity of the hill, he planted himself all alone, before 
the ranks, and, pointing to the mottoes on their standards, strove, 
by his stirring eloquence, to rouse them to another effort. Car- 
ried away by a lofty enthusiasm, he reminded them that Heaven 
watched over their cause, and would sustain their efforts. While 
he thus calmly stood, and bent his flashing eye on the advancing 
battalions, an English officer, who knew him, snatched a musket 
from a soldier, and shot him dead in his footsteps. 

Night soon after shut in the scene. It had been a fearful day 
— nearly two thousand men lay fallen across each other on that 
height, fifteen hundred of whom were British soldiers. The bat- 
tle-field remained in the hands of the English, but the victory 
was ours. 


A BOMANTIC INCIDENT. 

In the British station at Georgetown, South Carolina, was an 
English adjutant, by the name of Crookshanks — not a poetical 
name, certainly, but, as the reader will see, his name did not pre- 
vent him from being placed in a very romantic situation, and 
which only ought to have happened a few centuries ago, to have 
secured for all the parties concerned, a lasting fame in poetry, and 
made them the envied of all romance worshippers. ^ 

There lived in Georgetown, a fair daughter of a rebel publican, 
whose bright eye proved a strong attraction to the English offi- 
cers, who crowded her father’s inn, and rivalled each other in 
their efforts to win the smiles of the rebel maid. But to one alone 
did she incline, and it Soon became noted how the happy adjutant 


204 


HEROISM OF A YOUNG GIRL. 


frequented the presence of his mistress, and with what delight he 
sought out her society. Love sprang up between them, and after 
a time they became solemnly affianced. But their future was 
unpromising ; the war gave no promise of a rapid end, and their 
opposition in principles, which the prejudices of their education 
could not remove, threatened them continually with a painful sepa- 
ration. In the peaceful enjoyment, however, of the present, they 
drowned all dread of evil in the future. 

One night the adjutant, and several of his comrades, slept under 
the rebel inn-keeper’s roof. It chanced to be the very occasion 
when Georgetown was surprised by the whigs. At early morn, 
the young lady was suddenly awakened by the reports of muskets, 
the clashing of swords, and the shouts of combatants, among 
which she recognized her lover’s voice. In the greatest alarm, 
she sprang from her bed, and rushed, half dressed, out upon the 
piazza, where, to her terror, she saw her lover surrounded by a 
body of her countrymen, whose swords already hung suspended 
above his head, and threatening him with instant destruction. 

With a quick cry she sprang forward, rushed before the swords 
of his assailants, and threw herself upon his neck, exclaiming, 0 
save ! save Major Crookshanks !’^ The sudden appearance of such 
a protector, coupled with admiration for her heroism, completely 
disarmed his opponents. He was taken prisoner, but released on 
his parole, and suffered to remain with his betrothed. The pos- 
session of so brave and true-hearted a woman, and the remem- 
brance of this signal deliverance, no doubt, contributed in after 
years to the worthy adjutant’s happiness. 


HEROISM OF A YOUNG GIRL. 

Mr. Robert Gibbes, a gentleman earnestly devoted to the 
patriotic cause, was the owner of a plantation on the Stono, a few 
miles from Charleston, on which, on a certain occasion, a Hessian 
battalion encamped, compelling the family to surrender to their 
use the lower part of the mansion, and to confine themselves in 
the upper story. While here on one dark and stormy evening, 
two galleys appeared, ascending the river, which forthwith began 
a most destructive fire upon the Hessian encampment. The house 
appeared particularly exposed, although the vessels had been com- 
manded to avoid firing upon it, and to confine their attack to the 
enemy’s encampment. Of this Mr. Gibbes was not aware, and 
with the permission of the English commander, he set out. 


HEROISM OF A YOUNG GIRL. 


205 


although suffering acutely from an infirmity, and with his nume- 
rous family, hastened to the protection of a neighboring planta- 
tion. 

The balls were falling thick and fast, sometimes scattering dirt 
and sand over the party, while their loud whizzing, mingled with 
the fury of the distant affray, rendered the scene one of danger 
and terror. But scarcely had they proceeded so far as to be out 
of danger from the balls, when to their unutterable agony they 
discovered, that in the confusion and hurry of departure, an infant 
had been left behind. To leave the child alone in his danger was 
impossible, and to return for him was an attempt of imminent 
peril. Mr. Gibbes was suffering under an infirmity that made his 
movements exceedingly slow and painful, and therefore it was 
impracticable for him to return. The frightened and chattering 
servants stood trembling around, looking from one to the other in 
bewildering despair. Of all the rest of the party, saving Mrs. 
Gibbes, who was severely indisposed, none were above the age of 
childhood. 

While thus undecided. Miss Mary Ann Gibbes, but thirteen 
years of age, sprang forward and heroically offered to go for the 
lad, who was a son of Mrs. Fenwick, Mrs. Gibbes^ sister-in-law. 
The night was dark and stormy, the distance considerable, and 
the whole place swept by the cannon of the assailants. But with- 
out fear she retraced the way, and reached the house without in- 
jury, where the scene was one of unmingled terror. Undismayed 
by the thundering of the cannon, the crashing of the balls, the 
shrieks, shouts and imprecations of the combatants, she sprang 
to the door with the intention of entering, when she was brutally 
refused by the sentinel. But tears, entreaties, and the natural 
eloquence prompted by her heroism, and the high purpose on 
which she was bent, overcame his opposition, and she was permit- 
ted to enter. 

With rapid steps she ascended to the third story, and finding 
the child there in safety, she clasped it to her bosom, and hastened 
to overtake her retreating family, her course, as before, full of 
danger, and often the ploughing balls would scatter clouds of dust 
over her person. Uninjured, her perilous journey was performed, 
and when she reached her friends, she was welcomed by shouts 
of enthusiasm and admiration. This intrepid action, worthy of 
an adult, and all glorious in a child, borrows a fair share of 
romance by the reflection that the child thus saved, afterwards 
became Lieutenant-Colonel Fenwick, so highly distinguished by 
his services in the last war with Groat Britain. 

18 


206 


INTERESTING INCIDENTS. 


INTERESTINa INCIDENTS. 

The circumstances of the murder of Miss Jane MTrea have 
been variously given, but the following version is supposed to be 
correct : Miss M’Crea belonged to a family of royalists, and had 

engaged her hand in marriage to a young refugee, named David 
Jones, a subordinate officer in the British service, who was advan- 
cing with Burgoyne. Anxious to possess himself of his bride, 
he despatched a small party of Indians to bring her to the British 
camp. Her family and friends were strongly opposed to her 
going with such an escort ; but her affection overcame her pru- 
dence, and she determined upon the hazardous adventure. She 
set forward with her dusky attendants on horseback. 

The family resided at the village of Fort Edward, whence they 
had not proceeded half a mile before her conductors stopped to 
drink at a spring. Meantime, the impatient lover, who deserved 
not her embrace for confiding her protection to such hands, 
instead of going himself, had despatched a second party of Indians 
upon the same errand. The Indians met at the spring; and, 
before the march was resumed, they were attacked by a party of 
the Provincials. 

At the close of the skirmish, the body of Miss MTrea was 
found among the slain, tomahawked, scalped, and tied to a pine- 
tree, yet standing by the side of the spring, as a monument of 
the bloody transaction. The ascertained cause of the murder 
was this : The promised reward for bringing her in safety to her 
betrothed was a barrel of rum. The chiefs of the two parties 
sent for her by Mr. Jones quarrelled respecting the anticipated 
compensation. Each claimed it; and, in a moment of passion, 
to end the controversy, one of them struck her down with his 
hatchet. 


An act similar to that recorded of the gunner^ s wife at the 
battle of Monmouth, was performed by Mrs. "Corbeu, at the attack 
on Fort Washington. Her husband belonged to the artillery, 
and in the early part of the conflict was shot down. Standino- 
by his side and seeing him fall, without pausing to heed her 
private grief, or give way to the agony of her heart, she hastened 
to fill his place and perform his duties. Although severely . 
wounded, she heroically maintained her post to the'last. Her 
services were rewarded by the honorable notice of Congress. 


THE FIRST CONTINENTAL CONGRESS. 207 

At the darkest period of the Kevolution, New Jersey was, for 
a short time, full of British soldiers, and Lord Cornwallis was 
stationed at Bordentown. He visited Mrs. Borden one day, at 
her elegant mansion, and made an effort to intimidate her. He 
told her that if she would persuade her husband and son, who 
were then in the American army, to join his forces, none of her 
property should be destroyed ; but if she refused to make such 
exertions, he would burn her house, and lay waste her whole 
estate. Unintimidated and patriotic, she made the following 
bold reply, which caused the execution of the threat : The 

sight of my house in flames would be a treat to me, for I have 
seen enough to know that you never injure what you have power 
to keep and enjoy. The application of a torch to my dwelling I 
should regard as the signal for your departure.^' And such it 
was. 


THE FIRST CONTINENTAL CONGRESS. 

But I must not dwell long on these general topics. We are 
Americans, and have a country all our own. We are all linked 
to its fates and its fortunes. It is already not without renown ; 
for it has been the theatre of some of the most important of 
human transactions. In our history there are three epochs. The 
first extends from the origin and settlement of the colonies to the 
year 1774. The second extends from 1774, when these colonies 
first acted efficiently together, to 1789, when the present consti- 
tution of Government was established. The third embraces the 
period from 1789 to the present time. 

The assembly of the first Continental Congress, which took 
place in Phil<^elphia on the fifth of September, 1774, may be 
regarded as the era at which the union of these States com- 
menced ; and, may that day ever be remembered ! It saw assem- 
bled, from the several colonies, those great men whose naijies 
have come down to us, and will descend to all posterity. Their 
proceedings were remarkable for simplicity, dignity, and un- 
equalled ability. At that day probably there could have been 
convened, on no part of this globe, an equal number of men pos- 
sessing greater talents and ability, or animated by a higher and 
more patriotic motive. 

They were men full of the spirit of the occasion, imbued deeply 
with the general sentiment of the country, of large comprehen- 
sion, of long foresight, and of few words. They knew the history 
of the past; they were alive to all the diflB.culties and all the 


208 THE FIRST CONTINENTAL CONGRESS. 

duties of the present; and they acted, from the first, as if the 
future were all open before them. This Congress sat from the 
fifth day of September until the twenty-sixth of October, and it 
then dissolved. 

Its whole proceedings are embraced in forty-nine pages ; but 
these few pages contain the substance, and the original form and 
features of our American liberty. Its principal papers are : An 
Address to the People of G-reat Britain, written by John Jay; a 
Memorial to the Inhabitants of the British Colonies, written by 
William Livingston ; an Address to the King, written by John 
Adams, and corrected by J ohn Dickinson ; and an Address to 
the Inhabitants of Quebec, written by J ohn Dickinson. 

The first Congress, for the ability which it manifested, the 
principles which it proclaimed, and the characters of those who 
composed it, makes an illustrious chapter in our American his- 
tory. Its members should be regarded not only individually, but 
as a group. They should be viewed as living pictures, exhibiting 
Young America as it then was, when the seeds of its public des- 
tiny were beginning to start into life. 

For myself I love to travel back, in imagination, and stand in 
the midst of that assembly, that union of greatness and patrotism, 
and there contemplate its profound deliberations and its masterly 
exhibitions of both the rights and the wrongs of the country; 
and let every young man who wishes to learn and imitate the 
spirit of our ancestors, and to live and breathe in that spirit ; who 
desires that every pulsation of his heart, and every aspiration of 
his ambition, should be American, and nothing but American, 
master the contents of the immortal papers of that Congress, and 
fully imbue himself with their sentiments. 

The great Lord Chatham spoke of this assembly in terms 
which have caused my heart to thrill, and my eyes to moisten, 
from my first reading of them to this present hour. When 
your lordships look at the papers transmitted to us from Ame- 
rica; when you consider their decency, firmness, and wisdom; 
you cannot but respect their cause, and wish to make it your 
own. 

For myself I must declare and avow, that in all my reading 
and observation, and it has been my favorite study — I have 
read Thucydides, and have studied and admired the master- 
states of the world — that for solidity of reasoning, for force of 
sagacity, and wisdom of conclusion, under such a complication 
of difScult circumstances, no nation or body of men can stand in 
preference to the General Congress at Philadelphia. I trust it 
is obvious to your lordships that all attempts to impose servitude 


HAIL COLUMBIA. 


209 


I 

I 

j Upon such men, to establish despotism over such a mighty con- 
tinental nation, must be vain, must be fatal. We shall be forced 
ultimately to retract. Let us retract while we can, not when 
we must.^' 


HAIL COLUMBIA. 

{ 

Hail, Columbia ! happy land ! 

Hail, ye heroes, heaven-born band ! 

Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause, 
Who fought and bled in Freedorn^s cause, 
And when the storm of war was gone, 
EnjoyM the peace your valor won 1 
Let independence be our boast, 

Ever mindful what it cost ; 

Ever grateful for the prize. 

Let its altar reach the skies. 

Firm — united — let us be. 

Rallying round our liberty; 

As a band of brothers joinM, 

Peace and safety w e shall find. 

Immortal patriots ! rise once more ; 

Defend your rights, defend your shore ; 

Let no rude foe, with impious hand. 

Let no rude foe, wdth impious hand. 

Invade the shrine where sacred lies 
Of toil and blood the well-earned prize. 

While offering peace sincere and just. 

In Heaven we place a manly trust. 

That truth and justice will prevail. 

And every scheme of bondage fail. 

Firm — united, &c. 

Sound, sound the trump of Fame 1 
Let Washington's great name 

Ring through the world with loud applause. 
Ring through the world with loud applause ; 
Let every clime to Freedom dear 
Listen with a joyful ear. 

With equal skill and godlike power. 

He governs in the fearful hour 
Of horrid war ; or guides with ease. 

The happier times of honest peace. 

Firm — united, &o. 


18 * 


210 


THE BARONESS REIDESEL. 


Behold the chief who now commcands 
Once more to serve his country stands — 
The rock on which the storm will beat, 
The rock on which the storm will beat: 
But, armed in virtue firm and true, 

His hopes are fixed on heaven and you. 
When Hope was sinking in dismay. 
And glooms obscured Columbians day, 
His steady mind, from changes free, 
Resolved on death or liberty. 

Firm — united, &c. 


NAEEATIYE OF THE BAEONESS EEIDESEL. 

Every American reader is familiar with this lady^s name. She 
was the lady of one of Burgoyne's Major-Generals, a distinguished 
German officer ; and, with two infant children, accompanied her 
husband in the disastrous campaign of Burgoyne. She was a 
beautiful and accomplished woman, and the devotion which 
prompted her to follow her lord to the camp and tented field, and 
the sufferings and privations she there was compelled to undergo, 
have always excited the admiration and sympathy of the world. 
The sufferings which beset the English army on their retreat, 
after the battle of Saratoga, exceed the power of words to de- 
scribe. But no history gives so vivid and powerful a picture of 
the retreat, as the simple and unaffected narrative of Baroness 
Eeidesel. General Wilkinson, who introduces her account into 
his memoirs, remarks, that she suffered more than the horrors of 
the grave, in their most frightful aspect ; and he adds, that he 
had “more than once seen her charming blue eyes bedewed with 
tears at the recital of her sufferings. 

“As we had to march still further, I ordered a large calash to 
be built, capable of holding my three children, myself, and two 
female servants^ and in this manner we moved with the army in 
the midst of the soldiery, who were very merry, singing songs, 
and panting for action. We had to travel through almost impas- 
sable woods, and a most picturesque and beautiful country, which 
was abandoned by its inhabitants, who had repaired to the stand- 
ard of General Gates : they added much to his strength, as they 
were all good marksmen, and fitted by habit for the species of 
warfare the contending parties were then engaged in^ and the 
love of their country inspired them with more than ordinary cou- 
rage. The army had shortly to encamp. I generally remained 


THE BARONESS REIDESEL. 


211 


about an hour’s march in the rear, where I received daily visits 
from my husband. The army was frequently engaged in small 
affairs, but nothing of importance took place; and as the season 
was getting cold, Major Williams, of the artillery, proposed to 
have a house built for me, with a chimney, observing that it would 
not cost more than five or six guineas, and that the frequent 
change of quarters was very inconvenient to me : it was accord- 
ingly built, and was called the Block-house, from its square form, 
and the resemblance it bore to those buildings. 

^^But severer trials awaited us, and on the 7th of October our 
misfortunes began. I was at breakfast with my husband, and 
heard that something was intended. On the same day I expected 
Generals Burgoyne, Phillips, and Frazer, to dine with us. I saw 
a great movement among the troops ; my husband told me it was 
merely a reconnoisance, which gave me no concern, as it often 
happened. I walked out of the house, and met several Indians 
in their war dresses., with guns in their hands. AVhen I asked 
them where they were going, they cried out, ^ War ! war mean- 
ing that they were going to battle. This filled me with appre- 
hension, and I had scarcely got home before I heard reports of 
cannon and musketry, which grew louder by degrees, till at last 
the noise became excessive. 

About four o’clock in the afternoon, instead of the guests whom 
I expected. General Frazer was brought on a litter, mortally 
wounded. The table, which was already set, was instantly re- 
moved, and a bed placed in its stead for the wounded general. I 
sat trembling in a corner ; the noise grew louder, and the alarm 
increased ; the thought that my husband might perhaps be brought 
in, wounded in the same manner, was terrible to me, and dis- 
tressed me exceedingly. General Frazer said to the surgeon, ^ Tell 
me if my wound is mortal; do not fiatter me.’ The ball had 
passed through his body, and, unhappily for the general, he had 
eaten a very hearty breakfast, by which the stomach was distended, 
and the ball, as the surgeon said, had passed through it. I heard 
him often exclaim with a sigh, ^ 0 fatal ambition ! Poor General 
Burgoyne ! Oh ! my poor wife !’ He was asked if he had any 
request to make, to which he replied that, ^If General Burgoyne 
would permit it, he should like to be buried, at six o’clock in the 
evening, on the top of a mountain, in a redoubt which had been 
built there.’ 

did not know which way to turn; all the other rooms were 
full of sick. Towards evening I saw my husband coming ; then 
I forgot all my sorrows, and thanked God that he was spared to 
me. He ate in great haste, with me and his aid-de-camp, behind 


i 


212 the baroness reidesel. 

f 

the house. We had been told that we had the advantage over 
the enemy, but the sorrowful faces I beheld told a dilferent tale ; 
and before my husband went away he took me aside, and said 
everything was going very badly, and that I must keep myself in 
readiness to leave the place, but not to mention it to any one. I 
made the pretence that I would move the next morning into my 
new house, and had everything packed up ready. 

^^Lady Ackland had a tent not far from our house; in this she 
slept, and the rest of the day she was in the camp. All of a sud- 
den a man came in to tell her that her husband was mortally 
wounded, and taken prisoner. On hearing this she became very 
miserable. We comforted her by telling her that the wound was 
very slight, and advised her to go over to her husband, to do which 
she would certainly obtain permission, and then she could attend 
him herself. She was a charming woman, and very fond of him. 

I spent much of the night in comforting her, and then went again 
to my children, whom I had put to bed. 

I could not go to sleep, as I had G-eneral Frazer and all the 
other wounded gentlemen in my room, and I was sadly afraid my 
children would wake, and by their crying disturb the dying man 
in his last moments, who often addressed me and apologized ^for 
the trouble he gave me.’ About three o’clock in the morning I 
was told that he could not hold out much longer; I had desired 
to be informed of the near approach of this sad crisis, and I then 
wrapped up my children in their clothes, and went with them 
into the room below. About eight o’clock in the morning he died. 

^^After he was laid out, and his corpse wrapped up in a sheet, 
we came again into the room, and had this sorrowful sight before 
us the whole day; and, to add to the melancholy scene, almost ' 
every moment some officer of my acquaintance was brought in 
wounded. The cannonade commenced again ; a retreat was spoken 
of, but not the smallest motion was made towards it. About four 
o’clock in the afternoon, I saw the house, which had just been 
built for me, in flames, and the enemy was now not far off. We 
knew that General Burgoyne would not refuse the last request of | 
General Frazer, though, by his acceding to it, an unnecessary de- | 
lay was occasioned, by which the inconvenience of the army was 
increased. At six o’clock the corpse was brought out, and we 
saw all the generals attend it to the mountain. The chaplain^ Mr. 
Brudenell, performed the funeral service, rendered unusually so- 
lemn and awful from its being accompanied by constant peals from 
the enemy’s artillery. Many cannon-balls flew close by me, but 
I had my eyes directed towards the mountain, where my husband 
was standing, amidst the fire of the enemy; and, of course, I 


THE BARONESS REIDESEL. 213 

could not think of my own danger. General Gates afterwards 
said that, if he had known it had been a funeral, he would not 
have permitted it to be fired on. 

As soon as the funeral service was finished, and the grave of 
General Frazer closed, an order was issued that the army should 
retreat. My calash was prepared, but I would not consent to go 
before the troops. Major tiarnage, though suffering from his 
wounds, crept from his bed, as he did not wish to remain in the 
hospital, which was left with a flag of truce. When General 
Reidesel saw me in the midst of danger, he ordered my women 
and children to be brought into the calash, and intimated to me 
to depart without delay. I still prayed to remain, but my hus- 
band, knowing my weak side, said, AYell, then, your children 
must go, that at least they may be safe from danger.^ I then 
agreed to enter the calash with them, and we set off at eight 
o’clock. 

^^The retreat was ordered to be conducted with the greatest 
silence, many fires were lighted, and several tents left standing ; 
we travelled continually during the night. At six o’clock in the 
morning we halted, which excited the surprise of all ; General 
Burgoyne had the cannon ranged and counted ; this delay seemed 
to displease everybody, for if we could only have made another 
good march, we should have been in safety. My husband, quite 
exhausted with fatigue, came into my calash, and slept for three 
hours. During that time Captain Wiloe brought me a bag full of 
bank notes, and Captain Grismar his elegant watch, a ring, and a 
purse full of money, which they requested me to take care of, and 
which I promised to do, to the utmost of my power. We again 
marched, but had scarcely proceeded an hour before we halted, 
as the enemy was in sight; it proved to be only a reconnoitering 
party of two hundred men, who might easily have been made pri- 
soners, if General Burgoyne had given proper orders on the occasion. 

About evening we arrived at Saratoga; my dress was wet 
through and through with rain, and in this state I had to remain 
the whole night, having no place to change it; I, however, got 
close to a large fire, and at last lay down on some straw. At this 
moment General Phillips came up to me, and I asked him why 
he had not continued our retreat, as my husband had promised to 
cover it, and bring the army through ? ‘ Poor, dear woman,’ said 

he, M wonder how, drenched as you are, you have the courage 
still to persevere, and venture further in this kind of weather; I 
wish,’ continued he, ^you was our commanding general; General 
Burgoyne is tired, and means to halt here to-night, and give us 
our supper.’” 


214 


THE BARONESS REIDESEL. 


NARRATIVE OF THE BARONESS REIDESEL. 

(continued.) 

^^On the morning of the 7th, at 10 o’clock, General Burgoyne 
ordered the retreat to be continued, and caused the handsome 
houses and mills of General Schuyler to be burnt; we marched, 
however, but a short distance, and then halted. The greatest 
misery at this time prevailed in the army, and more than thirty 
officers came to me, for whom tea and coffee was prepared, and 
with whom I shared all my provisions, with which my calash was 
in general well supplied ; for I had a cook who was an excelleut 
caterer, and who often in the night crossed small rivers, and 
foraged on the inhabitants, bringing in with him, sheep, small 
pigs, and poultry, for which he very often forgot to pay, though 
he received good pay from me so long as I had any, and was ulti- 
mately handsomely rewarded. Our provisions now failed us, for 
want of proper conduct in the commissary’s department, and I 
began to despair. 

^^About two o’clock in the afternoon we again heard a firing 
of cannon and small arms ; instantly all was alarm, and everything 
in motion. My husband told me to go to a house not far off. 1 
immediately seated myself in my calash, with my children, and 
drove off; but scarcely had I reached it before I discovered five 
or six armed men on the other side of the Hudson. Instinctively 
I threw my children down in the calash, and then concealed my- 
self with them. At this moment the fellows fired, and wounded 
an already wounded English soldier, who was behind me. Poor 
fellow ! I pitied him exceedingly, but at this moment had no 
means or power to relieve him. 

^^A terrible cannonade was commenced by the enemy, against 
the house in which I sought to obtain shelter for myself and 
children, under the mistaken idea that all the generals were in it. 
Alas! it contained none but wounded and women. We were at 
last obliged to resort to the cellar for refuge, and in one corner of 
this I remained the whole day, my children sleeping on the earth 
with their heads in my lap; and in the same situation I passed a 
sleepless night. Eleven cannon-balls passed through the house, 
and we could distinctly hear them roll away. One poor soldier, 
who was lying on a table for the purpose of having his leg am- 
putated, was struck by a shot, which carried away his other; his 
comrades had left him, and when we went to his assistance, we 
found him in the corner of a room, into which he had crept, more 
dead than alive, scarcely breathing. My reflections on the dan- 


THE BARONESS REIDESEL. 


215 


ger to which my Imsband was exposed now agonized me exceed- 
ingly, and the tlioughts of my children, and the necessity of 
struggling for their preservation, alone sustained me. 

^^The ladies of the army who were with me were, Mrs. Harnage, 
a Mrs. Kennels, the widow of a lieutenant who was killed, and 
the lady of the commissary. Major Harnage, his wife, and Mrs. 
Kennels, made a little room in a corner with curtains to it, and 
wished to do the same for me, but I preferred being near the door, 
ill case of fire. Not far off* my women slept, and opposite to us 
three English ofiicers, who, though wounded, were determined not 
to be left behind ; one of them was Captain Green, an aid-de-camp 
to Major-General Phillips, a very valuable ofiicer, and most agree-' 
able man. They each made me a most sacred promise not to leave 
me behind, and, in case of a sudden retreat, that they would each 
of them take one of my children on his horse; and for myself, 
one of my husband’s was in constant readiness. 

Our cook, whom I have before mentioned, procured us our 
meals, but we were in want of water, and I was often obliged to 
drink wine, and to give it to my children. It was the only thing 
my husband took; which made our faithful hunter, Rockel, ex- 
press one day his apprehensions, that, ‘ the general was weary of 
his life, or fearful of being taken, as he drank so much wine.^ 
The constant danger which my husband was in, kept me in a 
state of wretchedness ; and I asked myself if it was possible I 
should be the only happy one, and have my husband spared to 
me unhurt, exposed as he was to so many perils. He never 
entered his tent, but lay down whole nights by the watch fires : 
this alone was enough to have killed him, the cold was so intense. 

The want of water distressed us much ; at length we found 
a soldier’s wife, who had courage enough to fetch us some from 
the river, an ofiice nobody else would undertake, as the Ameri- 
cans shot at every person who approached it ; but, out of respect 
for her sex, they never molested her. 

I now occupied myself through the day in attending the 
wounded ; I made them tea and coffee, and often shared my din- 
ner with them, for which they offered me a thousand expressions 
of gratitude. One day a Canadian officer came to our cellar, who 
had scarcely the power of holding himself upright, and we con- 
cluded he was dying for want of nourishment ; I was happy in 
offering him my dinner, which strengthened him, and procured 
me his friendship. I now undertook the care of Major Bloom- 
field, another aid-de-camp of General Phillips ; he had received 
a musket-ball through both cheeks, which in its course had 
knocked out several of his teeth, and cut his tongue ; he could 


216 


THE BARONESS REIDESEL. 


hold nothing in his mouth, the matter which ran from his wound 
almost choked him, and he was not able to take any nourishment 
except a little soup, or something liquid. We had some Ehenish 
wine, and in the hope that the acidity of it would cleanse his 
wound, I gave him a bottle of it. He took a little nowand then, 
and with such effect that his cure soon followed ; thus I added 
another to my stock of friends, and derived a satisfaction which, 
in the midst of sufferings, served to tranquillize me and diminish 
their acuteness. 

One day General Phillips accompanied my husband, at the 
risk of their lives, on a visit to us. The General, after having 
witnessed our situation, said to him, ^ I would not for ten thou- 
sand guineas come again to this place; my heart is almost 
broken.^ 

In this horrid situation we remained six days ; a cessation of 
hostilities was now spoken of, and eventually took place. A 
convention was afterwards agreed on ; but one day a message was 
sent to my husband, who had visited me, and was reposing in my 
bed, to attend a council of war, where it was proposed to break 
the convention; but, to my great joy, the majority were for ad- 
hering to it. On the 16th, however, my husband had to repair 
to his post, and I to my cellar. This day fresh beef was served 
out to the officers, who till now had only had salt provisions, which 
was very bad for their wounds. The good woman who brought 
us water, made us an excellent soup of the meat, but I had lost 
my appetite, and took nothing but crusts of bread dipped in 
wine. The wounded officers, my unfortunate companions, cut 
off the best bit, and presented it to me on a plate. I declined 
eating anything ; but they contended that it was necessary for me 
to take nourishment, and declared they would not touch a morsel 
till I afforded them the pleasure of seeing me partake. I could 
no longer withstand their pressing invitations, accompanied as 
they were by assurances of the happiness they had in offering me 
the first good thing they had in their power, and I partook of a 
repast rendered palatable by the kindness and good will of my 
fellow-sufferers, forgetting for the moment the misery of our 
apartment, and the absence of almost every comfort. 

On the 17th of October the convention was completed. 
General Burgoyne and the other generals waited on the American 
General Gates ; the troops laid down their arms, and gave them- 
selves up prisoners of war ! And now the good woman who had 
supplied us with water at the hazard of her life received the 


THE BARONESS REIDESEL. 217 

✓ 

reward of her services; each of us threw a handful ^of money 
into her apron and she got altogether about twenty guineas. At 
such a moment as this how susceptible is the heart of feelings 
of gratitude ! 

My husband sent a message to me, to come over to him with 
my children. I seated myself once more in my dear calash, and 
then rode through the American camp. As I passed on, I ob- 
served, and this was a great consolation to me, that no one eyed 
me with looks of resentment, but that they all greeted us, and 
even showed compassion in their countenances at the sight of a 
woman with small children. I was, I confess, afraid to go over 
to the enemy, as it was quite a new situation to me. When I 
drew near the tents, a handsome man approached and met me, 
took my children from the calash, and hugged and kissed them, 
which affected me almost to tears. ^ You tremble,^ said he, ad- 
dressing himself to me, ^be not afraid.^ ^No;^ I answered, ^you 
seem so kind and tender to my children, it inspires me with 
courage.^ He now led me to the tent of General Gates, where I 
found Generals Burgoyne and Phillips, who were on a friendly 
footing with the former. Burgoyne said to me, ^ Never mind ; 
your sorrows have now an end.^ I answered him, ^ that I should 
be reprehensible to have any cares, as he had none ; and I was 
pleased to see him on such friendly foot’ng with General Gates/ 
All the generals remained to dine with General Gates. 

The same gentleman who received me so kindly, now came 
and said to me, ^ You will be very much embarrassed to eat with 
all these gentlemen ; come with your children to my tent, where 
I will prepare for you a frugal dinner, and give it with a free 
will.' I said ^ You are certainly a husband and a father, you 
have shown me so much kindness.' I now found that he was 
General Schuyler. He treated me with excellent smoked tongue, 
beefsteaks, potatoes, and good bread and butter ! Never could I 
have wished to eat a better dinner ; I was content ; I saw all 
around me were so likewise ; and, what was better than all, my 
husband was out of danger." 


19 


218 


A DARING YOUTH. 


A DARINO YOUTH. 

The annexed incident, which occurred in Freehold, N. J. 
evinces an act of bravery in a mere youth, that renders it worthy 
of record. 

On a fine morning in May, 1780, as the family of Mr. David 
Firman, Sheriff of the county, were at breakfast, a soldier almost 
out of breath suddenly burst into the room, and stated, that as he 
and another soldier were conducting to the court-house two men, 
taken up on suspicion at Colt’s Neck, they had knocked down 
his comrade, seized his musket, and escaped. The sheriff, on 
hearing this relation, immediately mounted his horse, and gal- 
loped to the court-house to alarm the guard. His son Tunis, a 
lad of about seventeen, and small of his age, seized a musket, 
loaded only with small shot to kill blackbirds in the cornfields, 
and putting on a cartridge-box, despatched his brother Samuel 
up-stairs for the bayonet, and then, without waiting for it, hur- 
ried off alone in the pursuit. 

After running in a westerly direction about a mile, he dis- 
covered the men sitting on a fence, who, on perceiving him, ran 
into a swamp. As the morning was warm, he hastily pulled off 
his coat and shoes, and darted in after them, keeping close upon 
them for over a mile, when they got out of the swamp, and each 
climbed into separate trees. As he came up, they discharged 
at him the musket taken from the guard. The ball whistled' over 
his head. He felt for his bayonet, and, at that moment, percevied 
that, in his haste, it was left behind. He then pointed his gun 
at the man with the musket, but deemed it imprudent to fire, 
reflecting, even if he killed him, his comrade could easily master 
such a stripling as himself. He compelled the man to throw 
down the musket, by threatening him with death if he did not 
instantly comply. Then, loading the fuzee from his cartridge- 
box, he forced his prisoners down from the trees, and, armed 
with his two loaded muskets, he drove them toward the court- 
house, careful, however, to keep them far apart, to prevent con- 
versation. Passing by a spring, they requested permission to 
drink. 

^ No !’ replied the unterrified boy, understanding their de- 
sign. ^ You can do as well without it as myself; you shall have 
some by-and-by.’ 

Soon after, his father, at the head of a party of soldiers in 
the pursuit, galloped past in the road within a short distance. 
Tunis hallooed, but the clattering of their horses’ hoofs drowned 


A LEAP FOR LIFE. 219 

liis voice. At length he reached the village, and lodged his 
prisoners in the county prison. 

It was subsequently discovered that these men were brothers, 
from near Philadelphia; that they had robbed and murdered a 
Mr. Boyd, a collector of taxes in Chester County; and, when 
taken, were on their way to join the British. As they had been 
apprehended on suspicion merely of being refugees, no definite 
charge could be brought against them. A few days after, Sheriff 
Firman saw an advertisement in a Philadelphia paper, describing 
them, with the facts above mentioned, and a reward of $20,000 
(^Continental money) offered for their apprehension. He, accom- 
panied by his son, took them on there, where they were tried and 
executed. On entering Philadelphia, young Tunis was carried 
through the streets in triumph upon the shoulders of the mili- 
tary. In the latter part of the war, this young man became very 
active, and was the particular favorite of Gen. David Forman. 


A LEAP FOB LIFE. 

After the surrender of Charleston, the county adjoining was 
overrun by British troops, while there was no one to head a re- 
sistance against them. Moultrie and others were prisoners of 
war; while Sumpter, Gov. Butledge, and Horry flew to the north 
in order to stimulate the energies of the people in that quarter, 
and gain recruits. 

Marion, meanwhile, incapable of present flight, was compelled 
to take refuge in the swamp and forest. He was too conspicuous 
a person, had made too great a figure in previous campaigns, and 
his military talents were too well known and too highly esteemed, 
not to render him an object of some anxiety as well to friends as 
foes. Still suffering from the hurts received in Charleston, with 
bloody and malignant enemies all around him, his safety depended 
on his secresy and obscurity alone. Fortunately he had ^ won 
golden opinions from all sorts of people.^ He had friends among 
all classes, who did not permit themselves to sleep while he was 
in danger. Their activity supplied the loss of his own. They 
watched while he slept. They assisted his feebleness. In the 
moment of alarm he was sped from house to house, from tree to 
thicket, from the thicket to the swamp. 

A thousand events arise to the imagination as likely to have 
occurred to our partisan, in his hour of feebleness and danger, 
from the rapid cavalry of Tarleton, or the close and keen pursuit 


220 


A LEAP FOR LIFE. 


of the revengeful Tories. To what slight circumstances has he 
been indebted for his frequent escapes ! > What humble agents 
have been commissioned by Providence to save a life that was 
destined to be so precious to his country’s liberties ! 

After the restoration of his health, Marion formed his cele- 
brated brigade. Then commenced that species of partisan war- 
fare which the English in vain endeavored to crush, and which 
kept alive the spirit of patriotism in the South. His name 
became the terror of the British and Tories. His mode of 
warfare having been frequently described, our present sketch is 
merely to present a personal anecdote and an adventure. 

Marion, who was of diminutive stature, and his person uncom- 
monly light, placed little dependence on his personal prowess. It 
is related of him that, on one occasion, when he went to draw 
his sword, he could not because of the rust. Certainly a rich 
incident in the life of one whose career was so active ; but it 
proves to us that his successes were obtained by the strong power 
of intellect, and that he ruled his rough, undisciplined men, many 
of whom were giants in strength, and confirmed in obstinacy, by 
the mere exercise of moral force. He always rode a high-spirited 
horse, one of the most powerful chargers the South could pro- 
duce. When pursuing nothing could escape, and when retreat- 
ing nothing could overtake him. »- 

Being once nearly surrounded by a party of British dragoons, 
he was compelled, for safety, to pass into a corn-field by leaping 
the fence. This field, marked with a considerable descent of 
surface, had been in fact a marsh. Marfon entered it at the 
upper side. The dragoons in chase leaped the fence also, and were 
but a short distance behind him. So completely was he now in 
their power, that his only mode of escape was to pass over the 
fence at the lower side. 

But here lay a difficulty, which, to all but himself, appeared 
insurmountable. To drain the ground of its superfluous waters, 
a trench had been cut around this part of the field, four feet 
wide, and of the same depth. Of the mud and clay, removed in 
cutting it, a bank had been formed on its inner side, and on top 
of this was erected a fence. The elevation of the whole amounted 
to more than seven feet, a ditch four feet in width running 
parallel with it on the outside, and a foot or more of space in- 
tervening between the fence and the ditch. 

^^The dragoons, acquainted with the nature and extent of this 
obstacle, and considering it impossible for their enemy to pass it, 
pressed towards him with shouts of exultation and insult, and 


SONG OF Marion’s men. 


221 


summoned him to surrender, or perish by the sword. Regardless 
of their clamor, Marion spurred his horse to the charge. 

The noble animal, as if conscious that his master’s life was in 
danger, and that on his exertion depended its safety, approached 
the barrier in his finest style, and with a bound that was almost 
supernatural, completely cleared the fence and ditch, and re- 
covered himself without injury, on the other side. Marion im- 
mediately faced his pursuers, discharged his pistols at them, but 
without effect, and then bidding them ^good morning,’ he dashed 
into an adjoining thicket, leaving the dragoons astonished at 
what they had seen, and almost doubting if their foe was mortal.” 


1^ SONG OF MARION’S MEN. 

Our band is few, but true and tried, 
Our leader frank and bold ; 

The British soldier trembles 
When Marion’s name is told. 

Our fortress is the good green wood. 
Our tent the cypress tree ; 
rtfi We know the forest round us, 

IB As seamen know the sea. 

We know its walls of thorny vines, 

Its glades of reedy grass, 

Its safe and silent islands 
Within the dark morass. 









f 



- . 


• 


Wo to the English soldiery 
That little dread us near! 

On them shall light at midnight 
A strange and sudden fear : 

When, waking to their tents on fire. 

They grasp their arms in vain. 

And they who stand to face us 
Are beat to earth again ; 

And they who fly in terror deem 
A mighty host behind. 

And hear the tramp of thousands 
Up9n the hollow wind. 

Then sweet the hour that brings release 
From danger and from toil; 

We talk the battle over, 

And share the battle’s spoil. 

The woodland rings with laugh and shout. 
As if a hunt were up, 

9 * 


222 


A ROMANTIC STORY. 


And woodland flowers are gather’d 
To crown the . jldier’s cup. 

With merry songs we mock the wind 
That in the pine-top grieves, 

And slumber long and sweetly, 

On beds of oaken leaves. 

Well knows the fair and friendly moon 
The band that Marion leads — 

The glitter of their rifles, . 

The scampering of their steeds. 

^Tis life to guide the fiery barb 
Across the moonlit plain ; 

^Tis life to feel the night-wind 
That lifts his tossing mane. 

A moment in the British camp — 

A moment — and away 
Back to the pathless forest, 

Before the peep of day. 

Grave men there are by broad Santee, 
Grave men with hoary hairs. 

Their hearts are all with Marion, 

For Marion are their prayers. 

And lovely ladies greet our band 
With kindliest welcoming, 

With smiles like those of summer, 

And tears like those of spring. 

For them we wear these trusty arras. 
And lay them down no more, 

Till we have driven the Briton 
Forever from our shore. 


A ROMANTIC STORY. 

At tbe battle of Eutaw Springs, in the midst of the conflict, 
as the two armies were hurled on each other with a fearful force, 
two oflicers of the same rank became engaged in a desperate per- 
sonal conflict. Their swords flashed with inconceivable rapidity j 
now one advanced, and now the other, each bending the whole 
thought of his soul to the single adversary before him, and grow- 
ing unmindful of the din around him. 

They heeded not the ci'ash of artillery, tbe rapid clang of arms, 
the loud shriek of pain, nor the wild cry of despair. But it soon 
became manifest that the loyalist officer, though somewhat inferior 
to the other in weight, was the better swordsman; this the Ame- 


A ROMANTIC STORY. 


223 


rican perceived, and, resolved at all hazards to conquer his foe, he 
beat down his guard, closed in, clasped him in his firm embrace, 
and made him prisoner. 

When the captor and his prisoner met after the battle, it was 
observed that there was a strong personal resemblance between 
them. They were both youthful, high-minded, and chivalrous 
gentlemen; and a strong unanimity of feeling existing between 
them, with a respect already implanted by their respective bearing 
in the combat, a familiar acquaintance sprang up, which gradually 
grew into friendship, and ended in a sincere and ardent mutual 
attachment, as chivalrous in its nature as it was romantic in its 
origin. Some little time after the battle, the American officer re- 
turning home, on furlough, requested and obtained permission for 
his captive friend to accompany him. 

They travelled like brother knights of old, each pledged to the 
other’s defence, and bound to consider all alike as common friends 
or common enemies. Their route lay through a district, which 
was the sanguinary field of many bloody collisions, and cursed by 
prowling detachments of tories, who exercised a robber’s privilege 
of warring on all whom it pleased their fancy to construe into 
foes, or who tempted their avarice, or excited their vengeance. 
One day the two heroes were suddenly overtaken by a shower, 
and throwing their cloaks over their shoulders, they retreated under 
the shelter of a group of trees. 

Suddenly there appeared on the road a party of tories, who, 
with drawn swords, and shouting over their anticipated plunder, 
dashed toward the spot where stood the two friends. The high- 
souled American resolved not to fall into the hands of those, whom 
every instinct of his nature, and every impulse of his virtuous 
mind, stamped as men to detest and loathe, and as stinging aspens 
in the bosom of his country; and the heroic Briton, scorning the 
motives that actuated them, although to make himself known 
was but to obtain safety and freedom, also resolved to defend him- 
self to the last, and fall or live, the friend of him by whom he 
had been so generously distinguished. 

But their cunning and their valor achieved for them a glorious 
triumph. With waving swords, and with signals to the rear, as 
if urging companions behind them to follow, they spurred their 
horses, and both together dashed upon the approaching enemy. 
The fury of their onset, the determined vigor with which tli^y 
whirled their weapons above their heads, and their shouts for their 
supposed companions to follow, alarmed their opponents, who 
offered but a feeble resistance, and then fled rapidly, leaving the 
field to their victorious enemy, whom they outnumbered by many fold. 


224 


PULASKI^S BANNER. 


With numerous adventures that more effectually linked their 
friendship, they arrived safely at the home of the American offi- 
cer. Here the Englishman w-as welcomed, and at the home of 
his friend he found those who generously admitted into their con- 
fidence and friendship one who had become so attached to one of 
its promising members. In course of his sojourn here, some re- 
marks were dropped which led to inquiries, and the father of the 
American, to the unmingled joy of all parties, discovered that the 
two officers were first cousins. Their striking personal resem- 
blance thus became accounted for, and perhaps their involuntary 
.and mental attraction may be attributed to the same cause. 

The joy of the American family in discovering a kinsman so 
lofty in virtue, and possessed of all generous qualities, and one 
who brought to their circle high talents and brilliant parts, that 
daily won upon their hearts, was greatly augmented by the ap- 
pearance of an attachment springing up between the new-found 
cousin and a sister of the American. This lady was amiable and 
highly accomplished, and charmed by the bearing of the generous 
stranger, she soon yielded to him more of affection and admiration 
than was due to a cousin. 

He also was moved by her beauty and her many amiable traits, 
and thus they became betrothed, to the unbounded satisfaction of 
the brother. The Englishman had as effectually been conquered 
by the beauty of the sister as by the superior' strength of the 
brother. He was a prisoner, soul and body, in the conqueror^ s 
family. The reader may be assured that what we write is not 
fiction, though it sounds marvellously like legends of knightly love 
and conquest in the olden time. The facts of the story are given 
by Dr. Caldwell, author of a life of General Greene, who knew 
the parties when a boy, and saw them often. 


PULASKrS BANNEK. 


Pulaski fell at the taking of Savannah, during the American Revolution. His standard of crim- 
son silk was presented to him by the Moravian Nuns of Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. 


When the dying flame of day 
Through the chancel shot its ray^ 
Far the glimmering tapers shed 
Faint light on the cowled head, 
And the censer burning swung, 
Where, before the altar, hung 


That proud banner, which, with prayer, 

Had been consecrated there,' 

And the nun^s sweet hymn was heard the while, 
Sung low in the dim, mysterious aisle. 


‘‘Tate thy banner ! — may it wave 
Proudly o'er the good and brave. 

When the battle's distant w'ail 
Breaks the Sabbath of our vale, ^ 

AVhen the clarion's music thrills 
To the heart of these lone hills, 

When the spear in conflict shakes, 

And the strong lance shivering breaks. 

“Take thy banner! — and beneath 
The war-cloud's v.icircling wreath. 
Guard it — till our homes are free ; 

Guard it — God will prosper thee. 

In the dark and trying hour. 

In the breaking forth of power. 

In the rush of steeds and men, 

His right hand will shield thee then. 

“Take thy banner! But when night 
Closes round the ghastly fight. 

If the vanquished warrior bow. 

Spare him ! — by our holy vow. 

By our prayers and many tears. 

By the mercy that endears. 

Spare him ! — he our love hath shared. 
Spare him ! — as thou would'st be spared. 


“Take thy banner! — and if e'er 
Thou should'st press the soldier's bier. 
And the muffled drum should beat 
To the tread of mournful feet, 

Then this crimson flag shall be 
Martial cloak and shroud for thee." 
And the warrior took that banner proud 
And it was his martial cloak and shroud. 


226 


CAPTURE OF CAPTAIN HARPER. 


CAPTURE OF CAPTAIN HARPER. 

In the mon^th of April, in 1780, it was the intention of Cap- 
tain Brant, the Indian chieftain, to make a descent upon the 
tipper fort of Schoharie, but which was prevented by an unlooked- 
for circumstance. Colonel Yrooman had sent out a party of 
scouts to pass over to the head waters of the Charlotte river, 
where resided certain suspected persons, whose movements it was 
their duty to watch. It beingx the proper season for the manu- 
facture of maple sugar, the men were directed to make a quantity 
of that article, of which the garrison were greatly in want. 

On the 2d of April this party, under the command of Capt. 
Harper, commenced their labors, which they did cheerfully, and 
entirely unapprehensive of danger, as a fall of snow, some three 
feet deep, would prevent, they supposed, the moving of any con- 
siderable body of the enemy, while in fact they were not aware 
of anybody of the armed foe short of Niagara. But oh the 7th 
of April they were suddenly surrounded by a party of about forty 
Indians and Tories, the first knowledge of whose presence was 
the death of three of their party. The leader was instantly dis- 
covered in the person of the Mohawk chief, who rushed up to 
Capt. Harper, tomahawk in hand, and observed : ^ Harper, I am 
sorry to find you here 

^ Why are you sorry, Captain Brant replied the other. 

^ Because,^ replied the chief, ^ I must kill you, although we 
were schoolmates in our youth^ — at the same time raising his 
hatchet, and suiting the action to the word. Suddenly his arm 
fell, and with a piercing scrutiny, looking Harper full in the face, 
he inquired — ^ Are there any regular troops in the fort in Scho- 
harie V Harper caught the idea in an instant. To answer truly, 
and admit there were none, as was the fact, would but hasten 
Brant and his warriors forward to fall upon the settlements at 
once, and their destruction would have been swift and sure. He 
therefore informed him that a reinforcement of three hundred 
Continental troops had arrived to garrison the forts only two or 
three days before. 

This information appeared very much to disconcert the chief- 
tain. He prevented the farther shedding of blood, and held a 
consultation with his subordinate chiefs. Night coming on, the 
prisqj^ers were shut up in a pen of logs, ^nd guarded by the 
Tories, while among the Indians controversy ran high whether 
the prisoners should be put to death or carried to Niagara. The 
captives were bound hand and foot, and were so near the council 


CAPTURE OF CAPTAIN HARPER. 


that Harper, who understood something of the Indian tongue, 
could hear the dispute. The Indians were for putting them to 
death, but Brant exercised his authority to effectually prevent the 
massacre. 

On the following morning Harper was brought before the 
Indians for examination. The chief commenced by saying that 
he was suspicious, he had not told him the truth. Harper, how- 
ever, although Brant was eyeing him like a basilisk, repeated his 
former statements without the improper movement of a muscle, 
or any betrayal that he was deceiving. Brant, satisfied of the 
truth of the story, resolved to retrace his steps to Niagara. But 
his warriors were disappointed in their hopes of spoils and victory, 
and it was only with the greatest difficulty that they were pre- 
vented from putting the captives to death. 

They constructed floats, and sailed down the Susquehanna to 
the confluence of the Chemung, at which place their land-travel- 
ling commenced. Soon after this, a severe trial and narrow 
escape befell the prisoners. During his march from Niagara on 
this expedition, Brant had detached eleven of his warriors to' fall 
once more upon the Minisink settlement for prisoners. This 
detachment, as it subsequently appeared, had succeeded in taking 
captive five athletic men, whom they secured and brought with 
them as far as Tioga Point. The Indians slept very soundly, and 
the five prisoners had resolved, on the first opportunity, to make 
their escape. 

While encamped at this place during the night, one of the 
Minisink men succeeded in extricating his hands from the bind- 
ing cords, and with the utmost caution unloosed his four com- 
panions. The Indians were locked in the arms of deep sleep 
around them. Silently, without causing a leaf to rustle, they each 
snatched a tomahawk from the girdles of their unconscious 
enemies, and in a moment nine of them were quivering in the 
agonies of death. The two others were awakened, and, springing 
upon their feet, attempted to escape. One of them was struck 
with a hatchet between the shoulders, but the other fled. The 
prisoners immediately made good their own retreat, and the only 
Indian who escaped unhurt returned to take care of his wounded 
companion. As Brant and his warriors approached this point of 
their journey, some of his Indians having raised a whoop, it was 
returned by a single voice, with the death yell ! 

Startled at this unexpected signal, Brant^s warriors rushed 
forward to ascertain the cause. But they were not long in doubt. 
The lone warrior met them, and soon related to his brethren the 
melancholy fate of his companions. The effect upon the war- 


228 


CAPTURE OF CAPTAIN HARPER. 


riors, who gathered in a group to hear the recital, was inex- 
pressibly fearful. Rage, and a desire of revenge, seemed to 
kindle every bosom, and light every eye as with burning coals. 
They gathered around the prisoners in a circle, and began to 
make unequivocal preparations for hacking them to pieces. Har- 
per and his men of course gave themselves up for lost. While 
their knives were unsheathing, and their hatchets glittering, as 
they were flourished in the sunbeams, the only survivor of the 
murdered party rushed into the circle and interposed in their 
favor. With a wave of the hand, as of a warrior entitled to be 
heard — for he was himself a chief — silence was restored, and the 
prisoners were surprised by the utterance of an earnest appeal in 
their behalf. He eloquently and impressively declaimed in their 
favor, upon the ground that it was not they who murdered their 
brothers j and to take the lives of the innocent, would not be 
right in the eyes of the Great Spirit. His appeal was effective. 
The passions of the incensed warriors were hushed, their eyes 
no longer shot forth the burning glances of revenge, and their 
gesticulations ceased to menace immediate and bloody vengeance. 

After the most acute sufferings, from hunger and exhaustion, 
the party at last arrived at Niagara. The last night, of their 
journey they encamped a short distance from the fort. In the 
morning the prisoners were informed that they were to run the 
gauntlet, and were brought out where two parallel lines of 
Indians were drawn out between which the prisoners were to 
pass, exposed to the whips and blows of the savages. The 
course to. be run was towards the fort. Harper was the first one 
selected, and, at the signal, sprang from the mark with extraor- 
dinary swiftness. 

An Indian near the end of the line, fearing he might escape 
without injury, sprang before him, but a blow from Harper’s fist 
felled him ; the Indians enraged, broke their ranks and rushed 
after him, as he fled with the utmost speed towards the fort. 
The garrison, when they saw Harper approaching, opened the 
gates, and he rushed in, only affording sufiicient time for the 
garrison to close the gates, ere the Indians rushed upon it, clamor- 
ing for the possession of their victim. The other prisoners, taking 
advantage of the breaking up of the Indian ranks, took different 
routes, and all succeeded in reaching the fort without passing 
through the terrible ordeal which was intended for them.’^ 


A DESPERATE ENCOUNTER. 


229 


A DESPERATE ENCOUNTER. 

Col. Allen McLane, who died at Wilmington, Delaware, in 
1829, at the patriarchal age of 83, was distinguished for his per- 
sonal courage, and for his activity as a partisan officer. He was 
long attached to Major Lee’s famous legion of horse. While the 
British occupied Philadelphia McLane was constantly scouring 
the upper end of Bucks and Montgomery counties, to cut off the 
scouting parties of the enemy, and intercept their supplies of 
provisions. Having agreed, for some purpose, to rendezvous near 
Shoemakertown, Col. McLane ordered his little band of troopers 
to follow at some distance, and commanded two of them to precede 
the main body, but also to keep in his rear; and if they discovered 
an enemy, to ride up to his side and inform him of it, without 
speaking aloud. 

While leisurely approaching the place of rendezvous in this 
order, in the early grey of the morning, the two men directly in 
the rear, forgetting their orders, suddenly called out, “Colonel, 
the British !” faced about, and, putting spurs to their horses, were 
soon out of sight. The colonel, looking around, discovered that 
he was in the centre of a powerful ambuscade, into which the 
enemy had silently allowed him to pass, without his observing 
them. They lined both sides of the road, and had been stationed 
there to pick up any straggling party of the Americans that might 
chance to pass. Immediately on finding they were discovered, a 
file of soldiers rose from the side of the highway, and fired at the 
colonel, but without effect ; and, as he put spurs to his horse, and 
mounted the roadside into the woods, the other part of the detach- 
ment also fired. 

The colonel miraculously escaped ; but a shot striking his horse 
upon the flank, he dashed through the woods, and in a few mi- 
nutes reached a parallel road upon the opposite side of the forest. 
]3eing familiar with the country, he feared to turn to the left, as 
that course led to the city, and he might be intercepted by an- 
other ambuscade. Turning, therefore, to the right, his frightened 
horse carried him swiftly beyond the reach of those who had fired 
upon him. All at once, however, on emerging from a piece of 
woods, he observed several British troops stationed near the road- 
side, and directly in sight ahead, a farm-house around which he 
observed a whole troop of the enemy’s cavalry drawn up. 

He dashed by the troops near him without being molested, they 
believing he was on his way to the main body to surrender him- 
self The farm-house was situated at the intersection of two 
20 


2^0 A DESPERATE ENCOUNTER. 

roads, presenting but two avenues by wbicb be could escape. i 
Nothing daunted by the formidable array before him, he galloped j 
up to the cross-roads, on reaching which he spurred his active i 
horse, turned suddenly to the right, and was soon fairly out of | 
reach of their pistols, though, as he turned, he heard them call 
loudly to surrrender or die ! A dozen were instantly in pursuit ; ' 
but in a short time they all gave up the chase except two. 

Col. McLane's horse, frightened by fhe first wound he had 
ever received, and being a chosen animal, kept ahead for several 
miles, while his two pursuers followed with unwearied eagerness. 
The pursuit at length waxed so hot that, as the coloneFs horse 
stepped out of a small brook which crossed the road, his pursuers 
entered it at the opposite margin. In ascending a little hill, the 
horses of the three were greatly exhausted, so much so, that nei- 
ther could be urged faster than a walk. Occasionally, as one of 
the troopers pursued on, a little in advance of his companion, the 
colonel slackened his pace, anxious to be attacked by one of the 
two ; but no sooner was his willingness discovered, than the other 
fell back to his station. They at length approached so near that 
a conversation took place between them ; the troopers calling out. 

Surrender, you rebel, or weTl cut you in pieces. Suddenly one 
of them rode up to the right side of the colonel, and, without 
drawing his sword, laid hold of the coloneks collar. The latter, 
to use his own words, ^^had pistols which he knew he could depend 
onP Drawing one from the holster, he placed it to the heart of 
his antagonist, fired, and tumbled him dead on the ground. 

Instantly the other came up on his left, with his sword drawn, 
and also seized the colonel by the collar of his coat. A fierce and 
deadly struggle here ensued, in the course of which Col. McLane 
was desperately wounded in the back of his left hand, the sword 
of his antagonist cutting asunder the veins and tendons of that 
member. Seeing a favorable opportunity, he drew his other pis- 
tol, and with a steadiness of purpose, which appeared even in his 
recital of the incident, placed it directly between the eyes of his i 
adversary, pulled the trigger, and scattered his brains on every ' 
side of the road ! Fearing that others were in pursuit, he aban- 
doned his horse in the highway, and apprehensive, from his ex- 
treme weakness, that he might die from loss of blood, he crawled 
into an adjacent mill-pond, entirely naked, and at length succeeded i 
in stopping the profuse flow of blood occasioned by his wound. 


A HIGH-SPIRITED FAMILY. 


231 


A HIGH-SPIEITED FAMILY. 

Just after the defeat of Col. Ferguson at King’s Mountain, 

! General Cornwallis in retreating towards Winnsboro’ halted for 
I the night at AVilson’s plantation, near Steel creek. The British 
I general, with his staff and the infamous Tarleton, occupied the 
I house of Mrs. Wilson. Supper was ordered and prepared for the 
I British officers. Cornwallis, in order to obtain a knowledge of 
! his hostess, entered into conversation with her, and soon found 
that he was occupying the house of a noted whig leader, Bobert 
Wilson, who at that time, with his son John, was a prisoner in the 
i Camden jail, and who was the father and brother of more than a 
' dozen active whig soldiers. 

j The British general, upon this, attempted to enlist the sympa- 
I thies of his hostess with the royal cause. He observed that it 
I was a matter of sincere regret with him to be compelled to wage 
! a war, the worst calamities of which fell upon women. He was 
inclined to believe that there were many worthy men in the rebel 
army, who had been induced to take up arms by the delusive 
promises of unprincipled leaders. Madam,” he continued, 
‘^your husband and your son are my prisoners; the fortunes of 
I war may soon place others of your sons — perhaps all your kins- 
I men — in my power. Your sons are young, aspiring and brave, 
i In a good cause, fighting for a generous and powerful king, such 
I as George III., they might hope for rank, honor, and wealth. If 
you could but induce your husband and sons to leave the rebels, 
j and take up arms for their lawful sovereign, I would almost pledge 
I myself that they shall have rank and consideration in the British 
army. If you, madam, will pledge yourself to induce them to do 
so, I will immediately order their discharge.” 

To this appeal Mrs. Wilson replied, that her husband and sons 
were indeed dear to her, and that she would do anything her con- 
science would uphold to advance their interests. For five years 
1 they had been engaged in the struggle for liberty, and had never 
faltered nor fied from the contest. have seven sons who are 
: now, or have been, bearing arms,” she continued, — ^Gndeed, my 
seventh son, Zaccheus, who is only fifteen }^ears old, I yesterday 
assisted to get ready to go and join his brothers in Sumpter’s 
I army. Now, sooner than see one of my family turn back front 
' the glorious enterprise, I would take those boys, (pointing to three 
or four small sons), and with them would myself enlist under 
Sumpter’s standard, and show my husband and sons how to fight, 
j and, if necessary, to die for their country !” ^LVh ! General,” 


1 


232 


A HIGH-SPIRITED FAMILY. 


broke in Tarleton, think you’ve got into a hornet’s nest! 
Never mind, when we get to Camden, I’ll take good care that old 
Robert Wilson never comes back again 1” 

On the next day’s march a party of scouts captured Zaccheus, 
who was found on the flank of the British army, with his gun, 
endeavoring to diminish his Majesty’s forces. He was immedi- 
ately taken to the head of the column and catechised by Corn- 
walhs, who took the boy along with him on the march, telling him 
that he must act as his guide to the Catawba, and show him the 
best ford. Arriving at the river, the head of the army entered 
at the point designated by the lad; but the soldiers had scarcely 
gone half across, before they found themselves in deep water, and 
drawn by a rapid current down the stream. 

Believing that the boy, on whom he had relied to show him the 
best ford, had purposely brought him to a deep one, in order to 
embarrass his march, the general drew his sword, and flourishing 
it over him, swore he would cut off his head for his treachery. 
Zaccheus replied that he had the power to do so, as he had no 
arms, and was his prisoner; ^^but, sir,” said he, don’t you think 
it would be a cowardly act for you to strike an unarmed boy with 
your sword ? If I had but the half of your weapon, it would 
not be so cowardly ; but then you know it would not be so safe I” 

Struck by the lad’s cool courage, the general became calmer — 
told him he was a fine fellow, and that he would not hurt a hair 
of his head. Having discovered that the ford was shallow enough 
by bearing up stream, the British army crossed over in safety, and 
proceeded towards Winnsboro’. On this march Cornwallis dis- 
missed Zaccheus, telling him to go home and take care of his 
mother, and to tell her to keep her boys at home. After he 
reached Winnsboro’, Cornwallis dispatched an order to Rawdon, 
to send Robert Wilson and his son John, with several others, to 
Charleston, carefully guarded. 

Accordingly, in November, about the 20th, Wilson, his son, 
and ten others, set off under the escort of an officer and fifteen or 
twenty men. Below Camden, on the Charleston route, parties of 
British soldiers and trains of wagons were continually passing, so 
that the officer had no fear of the Americans, and never dreamed 
of the prisoners attempting an escape. Wilson formed plans, and 
arranged everything several times, but owing to the presence of 
large parties of the enemy, they could not be executed. At 
length, being near Fort Watson, they encamped before night, the 
prisoners being placed in the yard, and the guard in the portico 
and house. A sentinel was posted in the portico over the stock 
of arms, and all hands went to providing for their evening repast. 


ESCAPE OF CAPTAIN PLUNKETT. 


233 


Having bribed a soldier to buy some whiskey, for it had been 
I a rainy day, the prisoners pretended to drink freely, and one of 
them, seemingly more intoxicated than the rest, insisted upon 
treating the sentinel. Wilson followed him as if to prevent him 
from giving him the whiskey, it being a breach of military order. 
Watching a favorable opportunity, he seized the sentinehs musket, 

! and the drunken man, suddenly becoming sober, seized the senti- 
nel. At this signal the prisoners rushed to the guns in the portico, 
while the guard, taking the alarm, rushed out of the house. In 
the scramble for arms, the prisoners succeeded — drove the soldiers 
, into the house at the point of the bayonet, and the whole guard 
surrendered at discretion. Unable to take off their prisoners, 
Wilson made them all hold up their right hands and swear never 
i again to bear arms against the cause of Liberty and the Conti- 
j nental Congress,^ ^ and then told them that they might go to 
! Charleston on parole; but if he ever caught one of them in arms 
I again, he would ^Hiang him up to a tree like a dog.^^ 

Scarcely were they rid of their prisoners before a party of Bri- 
tish dragoons came in sight. As the only means of escape, they 
j separated and took to the woods. Some of them reached Marion’s 
j camp at Snow Island, and Wilson, with two or three others, ar- 
i rived in safety at Mecklenburg — a distance of over two hundred 

miles, through a country overrun by British troops. 


ESCAPE OF CAPTAIN PLUNKETT. 

Captain Plunkett, a high-spirited Irishman, whose attach- 
ment to the cause of liberty had led him to seek a commission in 
the Continental army, had, by the chances of war, been com- 
pelled to give up his sword, and to surrender himself a prisoner 
to the enemy. Previously to this untoward event, by the suavity 
of his manners and uniformly correct conduct he had rendered 
himself an acceptable guest in many families in Philadelphia, and 
particularly so to one of the Society of Friends, who, however 
averse to warfare, were not insensible of the claims of those to 
their regard, who, by the exercise of manly and generous feelings, 
delighted to soften its asperities. There was among them a 
female, mild and gentle as a dove, yet, in firmness of mind, a 
heroine, in personal charms, an angel. 

' She saw the sufierings of the captive soldier, and under the 
influence of pity, or perhaps a more powerful passion, resolved, 
at all hazards, to relieve him. It accidentally happened that the 
20 * 


234 


ESCAPE OF CAPTAIN PLUNKETT. 


uniform of Captain Plunkett's- regiment bore a striking resem- 
blance to that of a British corps, which was frequently set as a 
guard over the prison in which he was confined. A new suit of 
regimentals was, in consequence, procured and conveyed, without 
suspicion of sinister design, to the captain. On the judicious use 
of them rested the hopes of his fair friend to give him freedom. 

It frequently happened that officers of inferior grade, while their 
superiors affected to shun all intercourse with the rebels, would 
enter the apartments of the prisoners, and converse with them 
with kindness and familiarity, and then at their pleasure, retire. 
Two sentinels constantly walked the rounds without, and the 
practice of seeing their officers walking in and out of the interior 
prison became so familiar as scarcely to attract notice, and con- 
stantly caused them to give way without hesitation, as often as 
an officer showed a disposition to retire. 

Captain Plunkett took advantage of this circumstance, and ! 
putting on his ’ new coat at the moment that the relief of the 
guard was taking place, sallied forth, twitching a switch carelessly 
about, and, ordering the exterior door of the prison to be opened, 
walked without opposition into the street. Bepairing without 
delay to the habitation of his fair friend, he was received with 
kindness, and for some days secreted and cherished with every 
manifestation of affectionate regard. 

To elude the vigilance of the British Guards, if he attempted 
to pass into the country in his present dress, was deemed impos- 
sible. Woman's wit, however, is never at a loss for contrivances, 
while swayed by the influence of love or benevolence. Both in 
this instance may have aided invention. Plunkett had three 
strong claims in his favor ; he was a handsome man — a soldier — 
and an Irishman. The general conduct of the Quakers exempted 
the sect in a great measure from suspicion; in so great a degree, 
indeed, that the barriers of the city were generally entrusted to 
the care of their members, as the best judges of the characters 
of those persons who might be allowed to pass them. 

A female Friend, from a farm near the city, was in the 
family, on a visit to a relative. A pretext was formed to present 
her with a new suit of clothes, in order to possess that which she 
wore when she entered the city. Captain Plunkett was imme- 
diately disguised as a woman, and appeared at the barrier, ac- 
companied by his anxious deliverer. 

Friend Roberts," said the enterprising enthusiast, ^^may this 
damsel and myself pass to visit a friend at a neighboring farm 

Certainly," said Roberts, ^^go forward." The city was speedily 
left behind, and Captain Plunkett found himself safe under the 
pi'otection of Colonel Allen M'Lane, his particular friend." 


GENERAL SCHUYLER. 


235 


ATTEMPTED ABDUCTION OF GEN. SCHUYLER. 

The scouting parties of the enemy, emboldened by the feeble 
state of the country, and encouraged by the high rewards offered 
them, were exceedingly active in the securing of influential Ame- 
ricans, and conveying them to Canada as prisoners. By strata- 
gems, and sometimes by force, they fell upon those persons, 
marked as their victims, and by rapid marches would manage to 
escape beyond pursuit almost before their outrages would be 
known. Many of these attempts were successful, but others 
signally failed. The latter was the case with one of their most 
audacious attempts, in the securing of Gen. Schuyler; they, 

! also, failed in their object with Gen. Gansevoort. 

Gen. Schuyler's residence was in the suburbs of Albany. He 
had retired from the army, but still was of vast consequence and 
influence to the American cause. The importance that ho 
assumed in the control of affairs, made it an especial object with 
Haldimand, the British commander in Canada, to secure his 
person. A desperate plot t\^s, therefore, set on foot. John 
Waltermeyer, a notorious Tory partizan, was entrusted with the 
execution of the design, and with a company of whites and In- 
dians, he proceeded to Albany, and prepared to entrap his anti- 
[ cipated victim. The General had been cautioned often of the 
danger to which he was subjected by such attempts; and the 
frequency with which influential citizens were entrapped and 
captured, was sufficient cause for him to exercise every vigilance 
and caution. He had, therefore, added to his usual household 
! a guard of six men, who were by turns on duty day and night. 

I The evening of a sultry day in August was selected as the 
i occasion to make the attempt. The general and his family were 
I all gathered in the front hall of his house, and the doors were 
I all thrown wide open, in order to admit all the cooling air possi- 
1 ble, when a servant announced that a stranger at the back gate 
j required the presence of the general, on a matter of business. A 
! message so singular at once excited suspicion. Unfortunately, 
the evening was so very warm, that the servants had dispersed. 
The three sentinels just relieved from duty had retired, and the 
i others, who should have been at their post, were stretched on the 
! grass in the garden. The doors were hastily closed and fastened, 
while^ the family hurried to the upper rooms, the general to arm 
! himself, and the others for security. 

They presently discovered the house surrounded by a body of 
i armed men, and almost immediately was heard the crash of heavy 


I 


236 


GENERAL SCHUYLER. 


blows against the doors below. The general threw np a window 
to arouse the guard, and with the hope that it might alarm the 
town, or bring assistance from some quarter. A violent struggle 
was now heard below. The three guards who were within the 
house, had been aroused, and were endeavoring to drive the 
assailants back. But by an unfortunate incident, they were 
without their weapons, and had only the weight of their persons 
to oppose in resistance. Mrs. Church, a daughter of the general, 
had perceived, some hours before, her little son playing with the 
muskets, and not supposing they would be wanted, while she 
feared the consequences of their being within reach of the child, 
had caused them to be removed, while she neglected to inform 
the guard of the circumstance. But the brave fellows, nothing 
daunted, opposed themselves unarmed to the besieging troop, 
and by dealing blows as soundly as they could with their fists, 
they managed for a few moments to keep them at bay, but their 
overwhelming force soon overcome the resistance, and they rushed 
into the house. 

While this struggle was going on, the alarmed and terrified 
ladies above were in an agony of |jpar at the remembrance that, 
in their bustle of escaping, an infant had been left in the nur- 
sury, which was situated on the first fioor. Mrs. Schuyler was 
about flying to its rescue, but the general prevented her, when 
Margaret, the third daughter, rushed forth, and hastily descend- 
ing a private stairway, reached the room, and snatched the babe 
from the cradle, where it was lying in undisturbed repose. But 
as she was hurrying from the room with her valued burden, a 
tomahawk, hurled by an unseen hand, glanced by her side, and 
buried itself in the wall, carrying with it a remnant of her dress. 

Undismayed by this circumstance, or by the violent commotion 
in the hall, she hastened to the same private way by which she 
had descended, when in rapid flight to the rooms above, to her 
terror, she was confronted by Waltermeyer, the leader of the 
gang, who exclaimed — Wench, where is your master With 
admirable presence of mind, she replied — Gone to arouse the 
town.^^ Alarmed at this, he hurried by, permitting her to escape 
to the room where the family was gathered, who, in dreadful 
apprehension, were awaiting the issue of her daring and heroic 
exploit. 

Waltermeyer hastily summoned his followers from the drawing- 
room, where they were engaged in plundering the plate, and who 
reluctantly desisted from their work to listen to the orders of their 
leader. At this moment the general threw up a window, and 
called out — Come on ray brave fellows, surround the house and 


A NOVEL SITUATION. 


237 


secure tlie villains who are plundering.^^ The party terrified at 
this, and supposing that they were surrounded, made a precipitate 
retreat from the house, carrying with them the three men who 
had so heroically defended the house, one of whom was wounded. 
Waltermeyer himself had received a bullet from one of the gene- 
, rahs pistols, but was only slightly wounded. By this time the 
city was alarmed, and the citizens came hurrying to the spot, but 
not before the entire body of assailants had fled. 


A NOVEL SITUATION. 

In the fall of 1781 a man was captured in the vicinity of Fort 
Plain, by seven Indians, and hurried off into the wilderness. At 
I night the party halted at a deserted log tenement. The Indians 
built a fire, and after supper gathered around it, discussing the 
misfortunes of, their expedition, which thus far had resulted in 
but a few scalps, and only one prisoner. They therefore resolved 
to kill and scalp their captive in the morning, and return toward 
j the Mohawk with the hope of better success. Upon this conclu- 
! sion they stretched themselves upon the floor for sleep, with their 
j prisoner between two of them, who was bound by cords, which 
t were also fastened to the bodies of his keepers. The whole of 
i the discussion carried on by the savages was understood by the 
captive, who, in the greatest alarm at his approaching fate, began 
to tax his ingenuity for some way to escape. The Indians were 
soon in a sound slumber, but their white companion kept wide 
I awake, vainly striving to devise a plan for his escape, and begin- 
I ning to despair and to yield himself to his doom, when, as he 
accidentally moved his hand upon the floor, it rested upon a frag- 
ment of broken window-glass. 

No sooner did the prisoner seize the glass, than a ray of hope 
entered his bosom, and with his frail assistant he instantly set 
about regaining his liberty. He commenced severing the rope 
I across his breast, and soon it was stranded. The moment was 

one of intense excitement ; he knew that it was the usual custom 

ii, for one or more of an Indian party to keep watch and prevent 

! the escape of their prisoners. Was he then watched ? Should 

lie go on, with the possibility of hastening his own doom, or wait 
and see if some remarkable interposition of Providence might 
save him f 

A monitor within whispered, Faith without works is dead,’^ 
and after a little pause in his efibrts, he resumed them, and soon 


238 


A NOVEL SITUATION. 


had parted another strand ; and as no movement was made, he 
tremblingly cut another ; it was the last, and as it yielded he sat 
up. He was then enabled to take a midnight view of the group 
around him, in the feeble light reflected from the moon through 
a small window of a single sash. The enemy appeared to sleep, 
and he soon separated the cords across his limbs. lie then 
advanced to the fire and raked open the coals, which reflected 
their partial rays upon the painted visages of those misguided 
heathen, whom British gold had bribed to deeds of darkness; 
and being fully satisfied that all were sound asleep, he approached 
the door. 

The Indians had a large watch-dog outside the house. He 
cautiously opened the door, sprang out and ran, and, as he had 
anticipated, the dog was yelling at his heels. He had about 
twenty rods to run across a cleared field before he could reach 
the woods, and as he neared them he looked back, and in the 
clear light of the moon saw the Indians all in pursuit. As he 
neared the forest they all drew up their rifles and fired upon him, 
at which instant a strong vine caught his foot and he fell to the 
ground. The volley of balls passed over him, and bounding to 
his feet, he gained the beeclien shade. Not far from where he 
entered he had noticed the preceding evening a large hollow log, 
and on coming to it he sought safety within it. The dog at first 
ran several rods past the log, which served to mislead the party, 
but soon returned near it, and ceased barking, without a visit to 
the entrance of the captive’s retreat. 

The Indians sat down over him, and talked about their prison- 
er’s escape. They finally came to the conclusion that he had 
either ascended a tree near, or that the devil had aided him in 
his escape, which to them appeared the most reasonable conclu- 
sion. As morning was approaching, they determined on taking 
an early breakfast and returning to the river settlement, leaving 
one of their number to keep a vigilant watch in that neighbor- 
hood for their captive, until afternoon of the following day, when 
he was to join his fellows at a designated place. This plan set- 
tled, an Indian proceeded to an adjoining field, where a small 
flock of sheep had not escaped their notice, and shot one of them. 
While enough of the mutton was dressing to satisfy their imme-. 
diate wants, others of the party struck up a fire, which they 
chanced, most unfortunately for his comfort, to build against the 
log directly opposite their lost prisoner. The heat became almost 
intolerable to the tenant of the fallen basswood, before the meat 
was cooked; besides, the smoke and steam which found their way 
through the small worm-holes and cracks, had nearly suflbcated 


I 


LYDIA DARRAH. 


239 


liim, ere lie could sufficiently stop their ingress, which was done 
hy thrusting a quantity of leaves and part of his own clothing 
into the crannies. A cough, which he knew would insure his 
death, he found it most difficult to avoid; to back out of his 
hiding-place would also seal his fate, while to remain in it much 
longer, he felt conscious, would render his situation, to say the 
least, not enviable. 

After suffering most acutely in body and mind for a time, the 
prisoner (who was again such by accident) found his miseries 
alleviated when the Indians began to eat, as they then let the 
fire burn down, and did not again replenish it. After they had 
dispatched their breakfast of mutton, the prisoner heard the 
leader caution the one left to watch in that vicinity, to be wary, 
and soon heard the retiring footsteps of the rest of the party. 
Often during the morning the watchman was seated or standing 
over him. Not havinoj heard the Indian for some time, and 
believing the hour of his espionage past, he cautiously crept out 
of the log, and finding himself alone, being prepared by fasting 
and steaming for a good race, he drew a bee-line for Fort Plain, 
which he reached in safety, believing, as he afterwards stated, 
that all the Indians in the State could not have overtaken him in 
his flight. 


LYDIA DARRAH. 

The following account of the signal service rendered to our 

O O 

cause by a heroine Quakeress, Lydia Darrah, first appeared in the 
American Quarterly Review : 

When the British army held possession of Philadelphia, Gene- 
ral Harris^ head-quarters were in Second street, the fourth door 
below Spruce, in a house which was before occupied by General 
Cadwallader. Directly opposite resided William and Lydia 
Darrah, members of the Society of Friends. A superior officer 
of the British army, believed to be the Adjutant-General, fixed 
upon one of their chambers, a back room, for private conference ; 
and two of them frequently met there, with fire and candles, in 
close consultation. 

About the second of December, the Adjutant-General told 
Lydia that they would be in the room at seven o’clock, and re- 
main late ; and that they wished the family to retire early to 
bed ; adding, that when they were going away, they would call 
her to let them out and extinguish their fire and candles. She 
accordingly sent all the family to bed; but, as the officer had 


240 


LYDIA DARRAH. 


been so particular, her curiosity was excited. She took oiF her 
shoes, and put her ear to the key-hole of the conclave. She over- 
heard an order read for all the British troops to march out late 
in the evening of the fourth and attack General Washington's 
army, then encamped at White Marsh. On hearing this she 
returned to her chamber and laid herself down. 

Soon after the officers knocked at her door, but she rose only 
at the third summons, having feigned to be asleep. Her mind 
was so much agitated that, from this moment, she could neither 
eat nor sleep ; supposing it to be in her power to save the lives 
of thousands of her countrymen ; but not knowing how she was 
to convey the necessary information to General Washington, nor 
daring to confide it even to her husband. The time left was, 
however, short ; she quickly determined to make her way as soon 
as possible to the American outposts. 

She informed her family that, as they were in want of flour, 
she would go to Frankfort for some ; her husband insisted that 
she should take with her the servant-maid ; but, to his surprise, 
she positively refused. She got access to General Howe, and 
solicited — what he readily granted, a pass through the British 
troops on the lines. Leaving her bag at the mill, she hastened 
towards the American lines, and encountered on her way an 
American, Lieutenant Colonel Craig, of the light horse, who, with 
some of his men, was on the look-out for information. He knew 
her, and inquired whither she was going. She answered, in quest 
of her son, an officer in the American army; and prayed the 
Colonel to alight and walk with her. He did so, ordering his 
troops to keep in sight. 

To him she disclosed her momentous secret, after having ob- 
tained from him the most solemn promise never to betray her 
individually, since her life might be at stake with the British. 
He conducted her to a house near at hand, directed a female in 
it to give her something to eat, and he speeded for head-quarters, 
where he made General Washington acquainted with what he 
had heard. Washington made, of course, all preparation for 
baffling the meditated surprise. Lydia returned home with her 
flour; sat up alone to watch the movement of the British troops; 
heard their footsteps; but when they returned in a few days 
after, did not dare to ask a question, though solicitous to learn 
the event. 

The next evening the Adjutant-General came in and requested 
her to walk up to his room, as he wished to put some questions. 
She followed him in terror ; and when he locked the door and 


ADVENTURES OF GENERAL PUTNAM. 


241 


begged her with an air of mystery to be seated, she was sure that 
she was either suspected or had been betrayed. He inquired 
earnestly whether any of her family were up the last night he 
and the other officer met : she told him that they all retired at 
eight 0^ clock. He observed — know were asleep, for I 
knocked at your chamber door three times before you heard me ; 
I am entirely at a loss to imagine who gave Washington informa- 
tion of our intended attack, unless the walls of the house could 
speak. When we arrived near White Marsh we found all their 
cannon mounted, and the troops prepared to receive us ; and we 
have marched back like a parcel of fools.^^ 


ADVENTURES OF GENERAL PUTNAM. 

At one time, when General Putnam had command of the army 
in New York, he was visiting his outposts at West Greenwich, 
when Gov. Tryon with a corps of fifteen hundred men was on a 
march against it. Putnam had with him only one hundred and 
fifty men, with two pieces of artillery ; with them he took his 
station on the brow of a steep declivity near the meeting-house. 
The road turned to the north just before it reached the edge of 
the steep ; after proceeding in this direction for a considerable 
distance it inclined to the south, rendering the descent gradually 
and tolerably safe. 

As the British advanced they were received with a sharp fire 
from the artillery ; but perceiving the dragoons about to charge, 
Putnam ordered his men to retire to a swamp, inaccessible to 
cavalry, while he himself dashed directly down the precipice, in 
a spot where one hundred steps had been cut out in the solid 
rock for the accommodation of foot passengers. His pursuers, 
who were close upon him, paused wuth astonishment as they 
reached the edge, and saw him accomplish his perilous descent, 
and not one of them daring to follow, they discharged their pis- 
tols after him, one bullet of which passed through his hat. This 
wonderful feat has done more for the name of Putnam than 
almost any other one act. The declivity from this circumstance 
has since borne the name of Putnam’s Hill.” 

Somewhere near the time the above exploit took place, the 
following adventure was performed by General Putnam : The 
stronghold of Horse Neck was in the possession of the British, 

'’21 


242 ADVENTURES OF GENERAL PUTNAM. 

and Putnam witli a few followers were lurking in its vicinity, 
bent on driving them from the place. Tired of lying in ambush, 
the men became impatient and importuned the general with 
questions, as to when they were going to have a ^bout with 
the foe. One morning he made a speech something to the fol- 
lowing effect, which convinced them that something was in the 
wind : — 

Fellows ! youVe been idle too long, and so have I. I’m 
going to Bush’s at Horse Neck in an hour, with an ox-team and 
a load of corn. If I come back, I will let you know the parti- 
culars ; if I should not, let them have it !” 

Within an hour he was mounted in his ox-cart, dressed as 
one of the commonest Yankee farmers, and was soon at Bush’s 
tavern, which was in possession of the British troops. No sooner 
did the officers espy him than they began to question him as to 
his whereabouts, and finding him a complete simpleton, (as they 
thought) they began to quiz him, and threatened to seize his corn 
and fodder. 

How much do you ask for your whole concern ?” asked they. 

In marcy sake, gentlemen,” replied the mock clod-hopper, with 
the most deplorable look of entreaty, only let me off, and you 
shall have my hull team and load for nothing; and if that wont 
dew. I’ll give you my word I’ll return to-morrow, and pay you 
heartily for your kindness and condescension.” 

Well,” said they, we’ll take you at your word, leave the 
team and provender with us, and we wont require any bail for 
your appearance.” 

Putnam gave up the team, and sauntered about an hour or so 
gaining all the information that he wished ; he then returned to 
his men and told them of the foe, and his plan of attack. 

The morning came, and with it sallied out the gallant band. 
The British were handled with rough hands, and when they 
surrendered to General Putnam, the clod-hopper sarcastically re- 
marked, Gentlemen, I have only kept my word. I told you I 
would call and pay you for your kindness and condescension ” 


ADVENTURE OF COL. COCHRAN. 



243 


ADYENTUEE OF COL. COCHEAN. 


Colonel Cochran having been sent to Canada as a spy, his 
mission was suspected, and a large bounty offered for his head. 
While there he was taken sick, and, hearing that he was suspected, 
concealed himself for a few days in a brush-heap, unable to make 
his escape, or even walk. Having suffered much from his sick- 
ness and want of nourishment, and having discovered a log-cabin 
at a considerable distance from the spot where he was concealed, 
the only one in sight, he crept to it on his hands and knees, for 
the purpose of soliciting assistance. On his approach to the rear 
I of the cabin, he heard three men in earnest conversation, and it 
' happened that he was the subject of their discourse. 

Having heard of the heavy bounty offered for the colonel, and 
' having seen a man in the vicinity a few days before, answering 
the description of him, they were forming their plans, and ex- 
pressing their determination to find his whereabouts, and take him 
for the sake of the bounty. One of the men was the owner of 
the cabin. His wife was also present, and the others were his 
brother and brother-in-law. Soon after this conversation the 
three men started in pursuit. He crept into the cabin, and frankly 
told the woman, who seelned favorably impressed towards him on 
account of his almost helpless condition, that he had heard the 
conversation ; that he was the man of whom they were in search ; 
and that he should throw himself entirely upon her mercy, trust- 
ing to her fidelity for protection. This she very kindly promised 
him, to the utmost of her ability. 

Having received some restoratives, which seemed to give relief, 
and taken suitable nourishment, he lay down on a bed in the 
room, for the purpose of taking some repose. After the men had 
been absent about three hours they returned, when she concealed 
him in a closet by the side of the fire-place, taking good care, 
while the men were in the house, to keep near it, that if anything 
should be wanted from within she might be ready to get it her- 
self. During the time the men were in the liouse they expressed 
much confidence in the belief that the colonel was concealed some- 
where in the vicinity, and named many places in which they in- 
tended to look for him. Having taken some food, and otherwise 
prepared themselves, the men departed to renew their search. 

Soon after they retired, the woman, not considering the coloneks 
present situation safe, proposed that he should conceal himself at 
some distance from the cabin, wliere she might secretly bring him 
food, and render such other assistance as he needed. She accord- 


244 ADVENTURE OP CHARLES MORGAN. 

ingly directed him to take post on a certain hill, about half a mile 
distant, where he might be able to discover any personas approach, 
and to flee, if he was able, should it become necessary. 

He manifested an inclination to resume his former position in 
the brush -heap, which was in the midst of a patch of ground that 
had been cut over for a fallow ; but she told him her husband in- 
tended to burn it the next day, and in that case he would be cer- 
tainly discovered, or perish in the conflagration. He then sub- 
mitted entirely to her directions, and crept along to the hill in the 
best way he could. He remained some time in this place of con- 
cealment, undiscovered by any one except this faithful Rahab of 
the forest, who, like the good Samaritan, poured in the oil and 
wine, until his strength was in a measure restored, and he was 
enabled to return to his country and his home. 

Some years after the close of the war, and while the Colonel 
lived at Ticonderoga, he accidentally met with this kind-hearted 
woman, and rewarded her handsomely for her fidelity. 


ADYENTURE OF CHARLES MORGAN. 

Charles Morgan was a shrewd private of the Jersey brigade, 
a good soldier, and had attracted the notice of the Marquis de La 
Fayette. In the course of the movements on James river, tho 
Marquis was anxious to procure exact information of the force 
under Cornwallis, and, if possible, to penetrate his lordship^s de- 
signs; he considered Charles as a proper agent for the accomplish- 
ment of his purpose, and proposed to him to enter the British 
camp in the character of a deserter, but in reality as a spy. 
Charles undertook the perilous enterprise, merely stipulating that 
if he were detected the Marquis should cause it to be inserted in 
the Jersey newspapers that he was acting under the orders of his 
commanding officer. 

The pretended deserter entered the British lines and was con- 
ducted into the presence of Cornwallis. On being questioned by 
that nobleman concerning his motives for desertion, he replied, 
^Hhat he had been with the American army from the begin- 
ning of the war, and that while under General Washington he 
was satisfied ; but now that they had put them under a French- 
man, he did not like it, and therefore had deserted. Charles 
was received without suspicion, was punctual in discharging his 
duty as a soldier, and carefully observed everything that passed. 


ADVENTURE OP CHARLES MORGAN. 


245 


One day, while on duty with his comrades, Cornwallis, who was 
in close conversation with some of his officers, called him and 
asked, ^^How long will it take the Marquis to cross James river?'' 

Three hours, my lord," was the answer. Three hours!" ex- 

claimed his lordship, ^^will it not take three days?" ^^No, my 
> lord," said Charles, the Marquis has so many boats, each boat 
will carry so many men; and if your lordship will take the trou- 
ble of calculating, you will find he can cross in three hours." 

I Turning to his officer, the earl said, in the hearing of the Ameri- 
can,- ^^The scheme will not do." 

^ Charles was now resolved to abandon his new friends; and 
for that purpose plied his comrades with grog, till they were all 
in high spirits with the liquor. He then began to complain of 
the wants in the British camp, extolled the plentiful provision 
enjoyed by the Americans, and concluded by proposing to them 
to desert : they agreed to accompany him, and left it to him to 
manage the sentinels. To the first he offered, in a very friendly 
manner, a draught of rum from his canteen; but, while the sol- 
dier was drinking, Charles seized his arms, and then proposed to 
him to desert with them, which he did through necessity. The 
second sentinel was served in the same way; and Charles hastened 
to the American camp at the head of seven British deserters. On 
presenting himself before his employer, the Marquis exclaimed, 
^^Ah, Charles ! have you got back ?" 

^^Yes, sir," was the answer, ^^and have brought seven more 
with me." The Marquis offered him money, but he declined ac- 
cepting it, and only desired to have his gun again: the Marquis 
then proposed to raise him to the rank of a corporal or sergeant; 
but Charles' reply was, will not have any promotion; I have 
abilities for a common soldier, and have a good character : should 
I be promoted, my abilities may not answer, and I may loose my 
character." He, however, generously requested for his fellow- 
soldiers, who were not so well supplied with stockings, shoes, and 
clothing as himself, the Marquis's interference to procure a sup- 
ply of their wants. 


f 21* 


t 


246 


WONDERFUL ESCAPE. 


WONDERFUL ESCAPE FROM INDIANS. 

James Morgan, a native of Maryland, married at an early 
age, and soon after settled himself near Bryant's Station, in the 
wilds of Kentucky. Like most pioneers of the west, he had cut 
down the cane, built a cabin, deadened the timber, enclosed a 
field with a worm fence, and planted some corn. 

It was on the fifteenth day of August, 1782; the sun had 
descended ; a pleasant breeze was playing through the surround- 
ing wood ; the tall cane bowed under its influence, and the broad 
green leaves of the corn waved in the air; Morgan had seated 
himself in the door of his cabin, with his infant on his knee ; 
his young and happy wife had laid aside her spinning-wheel, and 
WJis busily engaged in preparing the frugal meal. That after- 
noon Morgan had accidentally found a bundle of letters, which 
he had finished reading to his wife before he had taken his seat 
in the door. It was a correspondence in which they had acknow- 
ledged an early and ardent attachment for each other, and the 
perusal left evident traces of joy on the countenances of both ; the 
little infant, too, seemed to partake of its parents' feelings by its 
cherub smiles, its playful humor, and infantile caresses. While 
thus agreeably employed, the report of a rifle was heard, another, 
and another followed in quick succession. Morgan sprang to his 
feet, his wife ran to the door, and they simultaneously exclaimed 

Indians !" 

The door was immediately barred, and the next moment all 
their fears were realized, by a bold and spirited attack of a small 
party of Indians. The cabin could not be successfully defended, 
and time was precious. Morgan, cool, brave, and prompt, soon 
decided. While he was in the act of concealing his wife under 
the floor, a mother's feelings overcame her — she arose — seized 
her infant, but was afraid that its cries would betray her place 
of concealment. She hesitated — gazed silently upon it — a mo- 
mentary struggle between affection and duty took place. She 
once more pressed her child to her agitated bosom ; again and 
again kissed it with impassioned tenderness. The infant, 
alarmed at the profusion of tears that fell upon its cheek, looked 
up in ite mother's face, threw its little arms around her neck, 
and wept aloud. In the name of Heaven, Eliza, release the 
child, or we shall be lost," said the distracted husband, in a soft, 
imploring tone of voice, as he forced the infant from his wife ; 
hastily took up his gun, knife, and hatchet; ran up the ladder 


WONDERFUL ESCAPE. 247 

that led to the garret, and drew it after him. In a moment the 
door was burst open and the savages entered. 

By this time Morgan had secured his child in a bag, and 
lashed it to his back; then throwing off some clapboards from 
the roof of his cabin, resolutely leaped to the ground. He was 
instantly assailed by two Indians. As the first approached he 
knocked him down with the butt of his gun. The other ad- 
vanced with uplifted tomahawk ; Morgan let fall his gun and 
closed in.^^ The savage made a blow — missed aim, but 
severed the cord that bound the infant on his back, and it fell. 
The contest over the child now became warm and fierce, and was 
carried on with knives only. The robust and athletic Morgan at 
length got the ascendency. Both were badly cut, and bled 
freely, but the stabs of the white man were better aimed, and 
deeper, and the savage soon sunk to the earth in death. Morgan 
hastily took up his child and gun and hurried off. 

The Indians in the house, busily engaged in drinking and 
plundering, were not apprised of the contest in the yard until 
the one that had been knocked down gave signs of returning life, 
and called them to the scene of action. Morgan was discovered, 
immediately pursued, and a dog put on his trail. Operated upon 
by all the feelings of a husband and a father, he moved on with 
the speed of a hunted stag, and soon outstripped the Indians, 
but the dog kept in close pursuit. Finding it impossible to out- 
run or elude the cunning animal, trained to hunts of this kind, 
he halted and waited until it came within a few yards of him, 
fired and brought him down, reloaded his gun, and again pushed 
forward. 

In a short time he reached the house of his brother, who re- 
sided between Bryant’s Station and Lexington, where he left the 
child, and the two brothers immediately set out for his dwelling. 
As they approached the clearing, a light broke upon his view — 
liis speed quickened, his fears increased, and the most agonizing 
apprehensions crowded upon his mind. He emerged from the 
canebrake — beheld his house in fiames, and almost burnt to the 
ground. My wife he exclaimed, as he pressed one hand to 
his forehead, and grasped the fence with the other, to support 
his tottering frame. He gazed for some time on the ruin and 
desolation before him, advanced a few steps, and sunk exhausted 
to the earth. 

Morning came; the bright luminary of Heaven arose, and 
Btill found him seated near the almost expiring embers. In his 
right hand he held a small stick, with which he was tracing the 
name of Eliza,^^ on the ground *■ his left was thrown over his 


248 


WONDERTUL ESCAPE. 


favorite dog, that lay by his side, looking first on the min, and 
then on his master, with evident signs of grief. Morgan arose. 
The two brothers now made a search and found some bones 
almost burned to ashes, which they carefully gathered, and 
silently consigned to their mother earth, beneath the wide-spread 
branches of a venerable oak, consecrated by the purest and holiest 
recollections. 

Several days after this, Morgan was engaged in a desperate 
battle at the lower Blue Licks. The Indians came off victors, 
and the surviving whites retreated across the Licking, but were 
pursued by the enemy for a distance of thirty-six miles. 

James Morgan was among the last that crossed the river, and 
was in the rear until the hill was descended. As soon as he 
beheld the Indians reappear on the ridge, he felt anew his 
wrongs, and recollected the lovely object of his early affections. 
He urged on his horse and pressed to the front. While in the 
act of leaping from his saddle, he received a rifle-ball in his 
thigh, and fell ; an Indian sprang upon him, seized him by the 
hair, and applied the scalping-knife. At this moment Morgan 
cast his eyes upward and recognized the handkerchief that bound 
the head of the savage, and which he knew to be his wife’s. 
This added renewed strength to his body, and increased activity 
to his fury. He quickly threw his arm around the Indian, and 
with a death-like grasp hugged him to his bosom, plunged his 
knife into his side, and he expired in his arms. Beleasing him- 
self from the savage, Morgan crawled under a small oak, on an 
elevated piece of ground a short distance from him. The scene 
of action shifted, and he remained, undiscovered and unscalped, 
an anxious spectator of the battle. 

It was now midnight. The savage band, after taking all the 
scalps they could find, left the battle-ground. Morgan was seated 
at the foot of the oak, its trunk supported his head. The rugged 
and uneven ground that surrounded him was covered with the 
slain ; the once white and projecting rocks, bleached with the 
rain and sun of centuries, were crimsoned with the blood that had 
warmed the heart and animated the bosom of the patriot and the 
soldier. The pale glimmering of the moon occasionally threw a 
faint light upon the mangled bodies of the dead, then a passing 
cloud enveloped all in darkness, and gave additional horror to the 
feeble cries of a few still lingering in the last agonies of pro- 
tracted death, rendered doubly appalling by the coarse growl of the 
bear, the loud howl of the wolf, the shrill and varied notes of the 
wild cat and the panther, feeding on the dead and dying. Mor- 


WONDERFUL ESCAPE. 


240 


gan beheld the scene with heart-rending sensations, and looked 
forward with the apathy of despair to his own end. 

A large and ferocious looking bear, covered with blood, now 
approached him. He threw himself on the ground, silently com- 
mended his soul to Heaven, and in breathless anxiety awaited 
his fate. The satiated animal slowly passed on without noticing 
him. Morgan raised his head; was about offering thanks for 
his unexpected preservation, when the cry of a pack of wolves 
opened upon him, and again awakened him to a sense of his dan- 
ger. He placed his hands over his eyes, fell on his face, and in 
silent agony awaited his fate. 

He now heard a rustling in the bushes — steps approached — 
a cold chill ran over him. Imagination, creative, busy imagina- 
tion, was actively employed; death, the most horrible death, 
awaited him ; his limbs would, in all probability, be torn from 
his body, and he be devoured alive. He felt a touch ; the vital 
spark was almost extinguished ; another touch more violent than 
the first, and he was turned over ; the cold sweat ran down in 
torrents; his hands were violently forced from his face; the 
moon passed from under a cloud ; a faint ray beamed upon him ; 
his eyes involuntarily opened, and he beheld his wife^ who, in a 
scarce audible voice, exclaimed, husband ! my husband 
and fell upon his bosom. 

Morgan now learned from his wife, that after the Indians had 
entered the house they found some spirits and drank freely ; an 
altercation soon took place, one of them received a mortal stab 
and fell ; his blood ran through the floor on her. Believing it 
to be the blood of her husband, she shrieked aloud, and betrayed 
her place of concealment. She was immediately taken and 
bound. The party, after setting fire to the house, proceeded to 
Bryan t^s Station. On the day of the battle of the Blue Licks, a 
horse, with saddle and bridle, rushed by her, which she knew to 
be her husband^s. During the action the prisoners were left un- 
guarded, made their escape, and lay concealed beneath some 
bushes under the bank of the river. After the Indians had 
returned from the pursuit, and left the battle-ground, she, with 
some other persons that had escaped with her, determined to 
make a search for their friends, and, if on the field and living^ to 
save them, if possible, from the beasts of prey. After searching 
for some time, and almost despairing of success, she fortunately 
discovered him. 

The party of Colonel Logan found Morgan and his wife, and 
restored them to their friends, their infant, and their home. 


250 


A FEARFUL ENCOUNTER. 


A FEARFUL ENCOUNTER. 

In fhe summer of 1782 a party of seven Wyandots made an 
incursion into a settlement some distance below Fort Pitt, in Vir- 
ginia. Here, finding an old* man alone in a cabin, they killed him, 
packed what plunder they could find, and commenced their re- 
treat. Amongst their party was a celebrated Wyandot chief, who, 
in addition to his fame as a warrior and counsellor, was, as to his 
size and strength, a real giant. 

The news of the visit of the Indians soon spread through the 
neighborhood, and a party of eight good riflemen was selected in 
a few hours for the purpose of pursuing the Indians. In this 
party were two brothers, of the names of Adam and Andrew Poe. 
They were both famous for courage, skill, and activity. This 
little party commenced the pursuit of the Indians with a deter- 
mination, if possible, not to suffer them to escape, as they usually 
did on such occasions, by making a speedy flight to the Ohio 
river, crossing it, and then dividing into small parties, to meet at 
a distant point in a given time. The pursuit was continued the 
greater part of the night, after the Indians had done the mischief. 
In the morning the party found themselves on the trail of the 
Indians, which led to the river. 

When arrived within a little distance of the river, Adam Poe, 
fearing an ambuscade, left the party, who followed directly on the 
trail, to creep along the brink of the river bank, under cover of 
the woods and bushes, to fall on the rear of the Indians, should 
he find them in ambuscade. He had not gone far before he saw 
the Indian rafts at the water’s edge. Not seeing any Indians, he 
stepped softly down the bank, with his rifle cocked. When about 
half way down, he discovered the large Wyandot chief and a 
small Indian within a few steps of him. They were standing 
with their guns cocked, and looking in the direction of our party, 
who, by this time, had gone some distance lower down the bot- 
tom. Poe took aim at the large chief, but his rifle missed fire. 
The Indians, hearing the snap of the gun-lock, instantly turned 
round and discovered Poe, who, being too near them to retreat, 
dropped his gun, and sprang from the bank upon them, and seiz- 
ing the large Indian by his clothes on his breast, and at the same 
time embracing the neck of the small one, threw them both down 
on the ground, himself being uppermost. 

^ The small Indian soon extricated himself, ran to the raft, got 
his tomahawk, and attempted to despatch Poe, the large Indian 
holding him fast in his arms with all his might, the better to en- 


I 


I 


A FEARFUL ENCOUNTER. 251 

1 able bis fellow to effect his purpose. Poe, however, so well 
I watched the motions of his assailant, that, when in the act of aim- 
1 ing his blow at his head, by a vigorous and well-directed kick with 
I one of his feet, he staggered the savage, and knocked the toma- 
hawk out of his hand. This failure on the part of the small Indian 
was reproved by an exclamation of contempt from the large one. 

In a moment the Indian caught up his tomahawk again, ap- 
proached more cautiously, brandishing his tomahawk, and making 
a number of feigned blows in derision and defiance. Poe, how- 
ever, still oh his guard, averted the real blow from his head, by 
throwing up his arm, and receiving it on his wrist, in which he 
was severely wounded; but not so as to entirely lose the power 
of his arm. In this perilous moment, Poe, by a violent effort, 
broke loose from the Indian, snatched up one of the Indian’s 
guns, and shot the small Indian through the breast, as he ran up 
the third time to tomahawk him. 

The large Indian was now on his feet, and grasping Poe by a 
i shoulder and leg, threw him down on the bank. Poe instantly 
\ disengaged himself, and got on his feet. The Indian then seized 
i him again, and a new struggle ensued, which, owing to the slip- 
I pery state of the bank, ended in the fall of both combatants into 
, the water. In this situation it was the object of each to drown 
the other. Their efforts to effect their purpose were continued 
for some time with, alternate success, sometimes one being under 
the water, and sometimes the other. Poe at length seized the 
tuft of hair on the scalp of the Indian, with which he held his 
head under water until he supposed him drowned. 

Eelaxing his hold too soon, Poe instantly found his gigantic 
antagonist on his feet again, and ready for another combat. In 
this they were carried into the water beyond their depth. In 
this situation they were compelled to loose their hold on each 
other, and swim for mutual safety. Both sought the. shore to 
seize a gun, and end the contest with bullets. The Indian being 
the best swimmer, reached the land first. Poe, seeing this, im- 
mediately turned back into the water, to escape, if possible, being 
shot, by diving. Fortunately the Indian caught up the rifle with 
which Poe had killed the other warrior. 

At this juncture Andrew Poe arrived upon the spot. Missing 
his brother from the party, and supposing from the report of the 
gun which he shot, that he was either killed, or engaged in a con- 
flict with the Indians, he hastened in the direction whence the firing 
came. On seeing him, Adam called out to him to ^^kill the big 
Indian on shore. But Andrew’s gun, like that of the Indian’s, 
was empty. The contest was now between the white and the 

I 

I 


252 


ATTEMPT TO TAKE ARNOLD. 


Indian, who should load and fire first. Very fortunately for Poe, 
the Indian, in loading, drew the ramrod from the thimbles of the 
stock of the gun with so much violence that it slipped out of his 
hand, and fell a little distance from him. He quickly caught it 
up, and rammed down his bullet. This little delay gave Poe the 
advantage. He shot the Indian as he was raising his gun to take 
aim at him. 

During the contest between Poe and the Indians, the rest of 
the party had overtaken the remaining five of them. A desperate 
conflict ensued, in which all of the Indians were killed, save one, 
who alone escaped to tell the melancholy tale of the fate of his 
fellows. There was great grief in the Wyandot nation. The big 
Indian, and four of his brothers, who were all killed in this con- 
flict, were distinguished chiefs, and their fall caused universal 
mourning. 


ATTEMPT TO TAKE ARNOLD. 

GtENERAL Washington, having learned whither Arnold had 
fled, deemed it possible still to take him, and bring him to the 
just reward of his treachery. To accomplish an object so de- 
sirable, and at the same time, in so doing, to save Andre, Wash- 
ington devised a plan, which, although it ultimately failed, evinced 
the greatness of his powers, and his unwearied ardour for his 
country's good. 

Having matured the plan, Washington sent for Major Lee to 
repair to head-quarters, (at Tappan, on the Hudson). I have 
sent for you,^^ said General Washington, ^^in the expectation that 
you have some one in your corps who is willing to undertake a 
delicate and hazardous project. Whoever comes forward will 
confer great obligations on me personally, and, in behalf of the 
United States, I will reward him amply. No time is to be lost; 
he must proceed, if possible, to-night. I intend to seize Arnold 
and save Andre.^^ 

Major Lee named a sergeant-major of his corps, by the name 
of Champe, a native of Virginia; a man full of bone and muscle ; 
with a countenance grave, thoughtful, and taciturn; of tried 
courage and inflexible perseverance. 

Champe was sent for by Lee, and the plan proposed. This 
was for him to desert — to escape to New York — to appear friendly 
to the enemy — to watch Arnold, and, upon some fit opportunity, 
with the assistance of some one whom Champe could trust, to 


ATTEMPT TO TAKE ARNOLD. 


seize him, and conduct him to an appointed place on the river, 

, where boats should be in readiness to bear them away. 

Champe listened to the plan attentively — but, with the spirit 
of a man of honor and integrity, replied, that it was not danger 
I nor difficulty that deterred him from immediately accepting the 
f proposal, but the ignominy of desertion , and the hypocrisy of 
enlisting with the enemy 

To these objections, Lee replied that, although he would ap- 
pear to desert, yet, as he obeyed the call of his Commander-in- 
chief, his departure could not be considered as criminal, and that, 
if he suffered in reputation for a while, the matter should one day 
i be explained to his credit 

' As to the second objection, it was urged, that to bring such a 
I man as Arnold to justice — loaded with guilt as he was — and to 
I save Andr4, so young, so accomplished, so beloved, to achieve so 
I much good in the cause of his country, was more than sufficient 
f to balance a wrong existing only in appearance. 

The objections of Champe were at length surmounted, and he 
accepted the service. It was now eleven o^ clock at night. With 
his instructions in his pocket, the sergeant returned to camp, and, 
taking his cloak, valise, and orderly-book, drew his horse from 
the picket, and mounted, putting himself upon fortune. 

Scarcely had half an hour elapsed before Captain Carnes, the 
officer of the day, waited upon Lee, who was vainly attempting 
to rest, and informed him that one of the patrol had fallen in with 
a dragoon, who, being challenged, put spurs to his horse, and 
had escaped. 

Lee, hoping to conceal the flight of Champe, or at least to 
delay pursuit, complained of fatigue, and told the captain that 
the patrol had probably mistaken a countryman for a dragoon. 
Carnes, however, was not thus to be quieted ; but withdrew to 
assemble his corps. 

On examination, it was found that Champe was absent. The 
captain now returned and acquainted Lee with the discovery, 
adding that he had detached a party to pursue the deserter, and 
begged the major’s written orders. 

After making as much delay as was practicable without exciting 
suspicion, Lee delivered his orders — in which he directed the 
party to take Champe if possible. “ Bring him alive,^^ said he, 
‘^that he may suffer in the presence of the army; but kill him, 
if he resists, or if he escapes after being taken. 

A shower of rain fell soon after Champe’s departure, which 
enabled the pursuing dragoons to take the trail of his horse — his 
shoes, in common with those of the horses of the army, being 
22 


254 


ATTEMPT TO TAKE ARNOLD. 


made in a peculiar form, and eacli having a private mark, which 
was to he seen in the path. 

Middleton, the leader of the pursuing party, left the camp a 
few minutes past twelve, so that Champe had the start of him 
but little more than an hour — a period by far shorter than had 
been contemplated. 

During the night, the dragoons were often delayed in the 
necessary halts to examine the road ; but on the coming of morn- 
ing, the impression of the horse’s shoes was so apparent, that they 
pressed on with rapidity. 

Some miles above Bergen, (a village three miles north of New 
York, on the opposite side of the Hudson,) on ascending a hill, 
Champe was descried, not half a mile distant. Fortunately, 
Champe descried his pursuers at the same moment, and, conjec- 
turing their object, put spurs to his horse, with the hope of 
escape. 

By taking a different road, Champe was for a time lost sight 
of ; but, on approaching the river, he was again descried. Aware 
of his danger, he now lashed his valise, containing his clothes 
and orderly-book, to his shoulders, and prepared himself to plunge 
into the river, if necessary. 

Swift was his flight and swift was the pursuit. Middleton 
and his party were within a few hundred yards, when Champe 
threw himself from his horse, and plunging into the river, 
called aloud upon some British galleys, at no great distance, for 
help. 

A boat was instantly despatched to the sergeant’s assistance, 
and a fire commenced upon the pursuers. Champe was taken on 
board, and soon after carried to New York, with a letter from the 
captain of the galley, stating the past scene, all of which he had 
witnessed. 

Adjoining the house in which Arnold resided, and where it 
was designed to seize and gag him, Champe had taken off several 
of the palings, and replaced them, so that with ease, and without 
noise, he could readily open his way to the adjoining alley. Into 
. this alley he intended to convey his prisoner, aided by his com- 
panion, one of two associates who had been introduced by the 
triend to whom Champe had been originally made known by letter 
from the Commander-in-chief, and with whose aid and counsel 
he had so far conducted the enterprise. His other associate was 
with the boat, prepared at one of the wharves on the Hudson 
river, to receive the party. 

Champe and his friend intended to have placed themselves 
each under Arnold’s shoulder, and to have thus borne him through 


ATTEMPT TO TAKE ARNOLD. 


the most unfrequented alleys and streets to the boat, representing 
Arnold,* in case of being questioned, as a drunken soldier, whom 
they were conveying to the guard-house. 

When arrived at the boat the difficulties would be surmounted, 
there being no danger or obstacle in passing to the Jersey shore. 
These ‘particulars, as soon as made known to Lee, were commu- 
nicated to the Commander-in-chief, who was highly gratified with 
the much-desired information. He desired Major Lee to meet 
Champe, and take care that Arnold should not be hurt. 

The day arrived, and Lee with a party of accoutred horses — 
one for Arnold, one for the sergeant, and the third for his asso- 
ciate, who was to assist in securing Arnold — left the camp, never 
doubting of the success of the enterprise, from the tenor of the 
last received communication. The party reached Hoboken about 
midnight, where they lay concealed in the adjoining wood — Lee, 
with three dragoons, stationing himself near the shore of the 
river. Hour after hour passed, but no boat approached. 

At length the day broke, and the major retired to his party, 
and with his led horses returned to the camp, where he proceeded 
to head-quarters, to inform the general of the much-lamented 
disappointment, as mortifying as inexplicable. Washington, 
having perused Champers plan and communication, had indulged 
the presumption that at last the object of his keen and constant 
pursuit was sure of execution, and did not dissemble the joy such 
a conviction produced. He was chagrined at the issue, and ap- 
prehended that his faithful sergeant must have been detected in 
the last scene of his tedious and difficult enterprise. 

In a few days, Lee received an anonymous letter from Champers 
patron and friend, informing him that on the day preceding the 
night fixed for the execution of their plot, Arnold had removed 
his quarters to another part of the town, to superintend the em- 
barkation of troops, preparing, as was rumored, for an expedition 
to be directed by himself ; and that the American legion, con- 
sisting chiefl}^ of American deserters, had been removed from 
their barracks to one of the transports, it being apprehended that, 
if left on shore until the expedition was ready, many of them 
might desert. 

Thus it happened that John Champe, instead of crossing the 
Hudson that night, w'as safely deposited on board one of the 
fleets of transports, from whence he never departed until the 
troops under Arnold lauded in Virginia. Nor was he able to 
escape from the British army until after the junction of Corn- 
wallis at Petersburg, when he deserted ; and proceeding high up 
into Virginia, he passed into North Carolina, near the Saury 


2f)G CROSSINQ THE DELAWARE. 

towns, and keeping in tlie friendly districts of that State, safely 
joined the army soon after it had passed the Congaree, in pursuit 
of Lord llawdon. 

llis appearance excited extreme surprise amon" his former 
comrades, which was not a little increased, when they saw the 
cordial reception he met with from the late Major, now Lieu- 
tenant-Colonel i^ee. llis whole story was soon known to the 
corps, which reproduced the love and respect of both officers and 
soldiers, (heretofore invariably entertained for the sergeant), 
heightened by universal admiration of his late daring and arduous 
attempt. 

Champc was introduced to General Greene, who very cheer- 
fully complied with the promise made by the Commander-in- 
chief, so far as in his power ; and, having provided the sergeant 
with a good horse and money for his journey, sent him to General 
Washington, who munificently anticipated every desire of the 
sergeant, and presented him with a discharge from further ser- 
vice, lest he might, in the vicissitudes of war, fall into the hands 
of the enemy, when, if recognised, he w’as sure to die on the 
gibbet. 

We shall only add, respecting the after-life of this interesting 
adventurer, that when General Washington was called by Presi- 
dent Adams, in 1798, to the command of the army prepared to 
defend the country against French hostility, he sent to Lieu- 
tenant-Colonel Lee to iiHjuire for Champe ; being determined to 
bring him into the field at the head of a company of infantry. 
Lee sent to Loudon County, Virginia, where Champe settled 
after his discharge from the anny, when he learned that the gal- 
lant soldier had removed to Kentuck}^, where he soon after died. 


CROSSING THE DELAWARE. 

The following extract, giving a description of the crossing of 
the Delaware, by Washington and his troops, is taken from an 
address delivered in New York, on the hundredth anniversary of 
Washington's birth-day, by Eli Moore, Esq. : 

In no one instance, perhaps, was Washington’s influence with 
the army so strikingly exemplified as in his attack on the enemy 
at Trenton. Over and over have I listened with intense anxiety, 
in the days of my boyhood, while my now departed sire, who 
fought and bled on that proud field, recited with thrilling in- 
terest all that related to the enterprise. It was on a December 


CROSSING THE DELAWARE. 


257 


ni^ht, (would he say,) when our little heart-broken army halted • 
on the banks of the Delaware. That night was dark, cheerless, 
tempestuous, and bore a strong resemblance to our country’s 
fortunes ! 

It seemed as if heaven and earth conspired for our destruction. 
The clouds lowered — darkness and the storm came apace. The 
snow and hail descended, beating with unmitigated violence upon 
the supperless, half-clad, shivering soldier • and in the roaring of 
the flood and the wailings of the storm was heard, by fancy’s ear, 
the knell of our hopes and the dirge of liberty ! The impetuous 
river was filled with floating ice : an attempt to cross it at that 
time, and under such circumstances, seemed a desperate enter- 
prise — yet it was undertaken, and thanks be to God and Wash- 
ington, was successfully accomplished. 

From where we landed on the Jersey shore, to Trenton, was 
about nine miles, and on the whole line of march there was 
scarcely a word uttered, save by the oflicers when giving some 
order. We were well-nigh exhausted (said he) — many of us 
frost-bitten — and the majority of us so badly shod, the blood 
gushed from our frozen and lacerated feet at every tread — yet we 
upbraided not, complained not — but marched steadily and firmly, 
though mournfully, onward, resolved to persevere to the utter- 
most — not for our country — our country, alas ! we had given up 
for lost. yhr ou?'selv€s — life for us no longer wore a charm ; 

but because snch teas ihe will of our heloved chief — ’twas for 
Washington alone we were willing to make the sacrifice. 

When we arrived within sight of the enemy’s encampments, 
we were ordered to form a line, when Washington reviewed us. 
Pale and emaciated — dispirited and exhausted — we presented a 
most unwarlike and melancholy aspect. The paternal eye of our 
chief was quick to discover the extent of our sufferings, and 
acknowledge them with his tears ; but suddenly checking his 
emotions, he reminded us that our country and all that we held 
dear were staked upon the coming battle. As he spoke we began 
to gather ourselves up and rally our energies ; every man grasped 
his arms more firmly ; and the clenched hand, and the compressed 
lip, and the steadfast look, and the knit brow, told the soul’s 
resolve. Washington observed us well; then did he exhort us, 
with all the fervor of his soul, ‘‘ on yonder field to conquer, or 
die the death of the brave.’^ 

At that instant the glorious sun, as if in prophetic token of 
our success, burst forth in all its splendor, bathing in liquid light 
the blue hills of Jersey. The faces which but a few moments 
before were blanched with despair, glowed with martial fire and 
22 * 


258 CAPTURE OF GENERAL PRESCOTT. 

animation. Our chief with exultation hailed Oie scene; then 
casting his doubts to the winds, and calling on the God of battle 
and his faithful soldiers, led on the charge. The conflict was 
fierce and bloody. For Tuore than twenty minutes not a gun was 
fired ; the sabre and the bayonet did the work of destruction ; it 
was a hurricane of fire, and steel, and death. There did we 
stand, (would he say), there did we stand, ‘‘ foot to foot, and hilt 
to hilt,'^ with the serried foe ! and where we stood we died or 
conquered. Such was that terrific scene. 

The result of that action, gentlemen, is known to you all — as 
are also its bearings upon the fortunes of America. Had defeat 
attended our arms at this trying crisis, our cause was lost — for 
ever lost — and freedom had found a grave on the plains of Tren- 
ton ! But the wisdom and prudence of Washington secured us 
the victory — and consequently our liberty. 

TTow great our obligation then, and how much it behooves us 
at this time to show our gratitude by erecting to his memory a 
monument, that shall tell to after-ages, not only that Washington 
was great, but that xce were grateful ! Let it no longer be de- 
layed ! To pause is to invite defeat — to persevere, to insure 
success. 


CAPTURE OF GENERAL PRESCOTT. 

In the latter part of 1776, Major-General Lee, during Wash- 
ington's retreat through the Jerseys, unfortunately fell into the 
hands of the enemy, and was conveyed with triumph into New 
York. This circumstance, at the darkest era of our revolutionary 
contest, greatly depressed the spirits of the Americans, particu- 
larly as there was no prisoner in their hands for whom he could 
be exchanged. 

Under these circumstances many enterprises were projected to 
capture some English ofiicer of equal rank, by which means an 
exchange could be effected, but it was reserved for Major Barton 
of the Rhode Island line, to successfully plan and accomplish this 
purpose. 

Shortly after the capture of Lee, the British took possession of 
the islands of Rhode Island, Canonicut, and Prudence, in Nar- 
ragansett Bay. Major Barton was, at this time, attached to a 
regiment, under command of Colonel Stanton, that was stationed 
at Tiverton, on the eastern shore of the bay. From4)his place, he 
anxiously watched an opportunity to effect the object he had at 


CAPTURE OF GENERAL PRESCOTT. 


259 


heart. In June, 1777, he learned from a prisoner, that G eneral 
Richard Prescott had established his head-quarters on the west 
side of Rhode Island, and the prisoner gave a minute description 
I of the house, This account was, a few days after, confirmed by 
j a deserter from the British ranks. Conceiving the opportunity 
^ now afforded favorable, he began to make preparations for the 
f execution of his design. But there were serious obstacles in the 
I way. The enterprise proposed was hazardous to the extreme, 
and its failure liable to bring upon it condemnation as rash and 
foolhardy ; but then again, if successful, an enviable and honor- 
able renown would be the reward of those concerned, 
i He communicated his designs to Col. Stanton, his superior 
[ officer, who gave it his commendation, and permitted him to select 
I from his regiment such men and ofiicers as he desired to assist 
j him in the attack. From an apprehension that his design might 
become known to the enemy, he did not make a selection of the 
necessary number of men until the last moment, and then with a 
desire that he might be accompanied only by volunteers, he 
; ordered his whole company upon parade, and in a brief speech 
stated that he wished to obtain forty volunteers for an expedition 
of great hazard, and all that wished to accompany him, should 
signify it by stepping from the ranks. Without one exception, 
the whole regiment advanced. He now found it necessary to 
make the selection himself, and he did so, choosing those whose 
courage and fidelity were tested. Several officers had personally 
volunteered, but not one of the party, save Barton himself, knew 
of the object in view, but all trusted to the honor and courage of 
their leader. 

Some delay was experienced in procuring boats, but on the 4th 
of July, 1777, they embarked from Tiverton for Bristol. In 
crossing Mount Hope Bay, they suffered from a severe storm, 
but they arrived at Bristol at midnight. On the morning of the 
5th, the Major, with his officers, went over to Hog Island for the 
purpose of reconnoitering the position of the enemy. Here he 
revealed the object of the expedition, and his plan for its accom- 
plishment. 

It was not until the evening of the 5th, that the party again 
embarked. Crossing Narragansett Bay, they landed i5n Warwick 
Neck, but were here detained by a severe storm, which retarded 
their plans considerably. On the 9th, however, it became clear, 
and they prepared once more to sail, with the intention of pro- 
ceeding directly to Rhode Island. Some hours after the set of 
sun, all was still, and the darkness affording them a protection 
from observation, the little squadron shot out from the land, and 


2G0 


CAPTURE OF GENERAL PRESCOTT. 


I 


proceeded noiselessly and caatiou.sly on its course. This was a 
very hazardous part of the enterprise, as there was p-eat danger 
of being discovered by some of the ships of war that lay near the 
shore. Cautiously gliding along between the islands of Prudence 
and J\atience, by which means they were secured from observ'a- 
tion from the enemy’s shipping that lay off by Hope Island, they 
advanced rapidly to their destination. While passing the north 
end of IVudencc Island, they could distinctly hear the sentinels 
from the ships, cry out, All’s well.” The night was one of 
excessive darkness, and this fortunate circumstance, no doubt, con- 
tributed largely to the success of the plan. 

Tlie landing was effected without difficulty. In order to secure 
a rapid retreat, one man was commanded to remain in each boat, 
and instructed to be ready for departing at a moment’s notice. 
A\dien all were on shore, the re(|uisite instructions were given, 
and the party advanced rapidly in the direction of General Pres- 
cott’s head-(juarters. ^I’he difficulties of Major Parton’s situation 
will be readily appreciated. Kven should he surprise General 
Prescott, a very few' moments would suffice for an alarm to be 
carried to the enemy, and if so, the whole Pritish army w’ould be 
uj)on them before they could get to their boats. Or even should 
they reach their boats, if an alarm were conveyed U) the enemy’s 
shipping, their retreat would, with certainty, be cut off. It w'as, 
therefore, necessary to proc*eed with the utmost caution and care; 
and to act with e(|ual daring, prudence, and celerity. 

The distance to the residence of the English general was 
about a mile. The party was divided into five divisions ; one to 
approach the door on the south side, another on the east, and a 
third on the W'cst side, there being three doors to the house, 
while the fourth division was fo guard the road, and the fifth to 
be ready to act on emergencies. They were obliged, in order to 
reach the house, to pass the guard-house of the enemy, on their 
left, and on the right a house occupied by a company of cavalry. 
On arriving at Prescott’s head-quai*ters, they were challenged by 
a sentinel wdio was stationed at the gate of the front yard. The 
darkness of the night prevented him from determining the nature 
of the party approaching, but, as they continued to advance in 
silence, he again challenged them, demanding, “Who goes 
there ?’^ “ Friends,” said Purton. “Advance and give the coun- 
tersign,” w'as the rejoinder. Pho !” replied Parton, as he con- 
tinued to advance close to the person of the sentinel, “we have 
no countersign — have you seen any rascals to night?” 

Almost simultaneous w ith this remark. Barton suddenly seized 
the musket of the sentinel, and charged him to make no noise on 


CAPTURE OF GENERAL PRESCOTT. 


2G1 


tlic penalty of instant death. So much had been accomplished in 
perfect silence. The divisions rapidly advanced to their respect- 
ive positions, while Barton questioned the bewildered and terri- 
fied sentinel, as to whether the General was in the house, who 
replied that he was. The signal was now given, and in an in- 
stant the south door was burst open, and the division there sta- 
tioned rushed into the building followed by the Major. 

The first person Barton met was Mr. Perwig, who denied that 
General Prescott was in the house, and his son also obstinately 
denied the presence of the English officer. Not being able to 
find him in their rapid search through the apartments. Barton 
now had recourse to stratagem. In a loud voice he declared his 
intention of capturing the General dead or alive, and ordered his 
soldiers immediately to set fire to the house. At this juncture, 
a voice which Barton suspected to belong to the General, inquired 
the cause of the disturbance. Barton rushed to the apartments 
from which came the voice he heard, and finding there an elderly 
gentleman just rising from his bed, he accosted him as General 
Prescott. To this the gentleman assented, and declared he bore 
the name and title. “ Then you are my prisoner, replied Bar- 
ton. I acknowledge that I am,^^ was the rejoinder. He was 
only allowed time to partially dress himself, when he was hurried 
off by his captors. 

Meanwhile a singular circumstance had occurred. At the very 
moment when Barton first gained admission into the house, one 
of the British soldiers managed to escape, and fiew to the quar- 
ters of the main guard to give the alarm. This man, in the 
alarm of the moment, rushed forth with no other clothing than 
his shirt ; and having hastily explained the matter to the sentinel 
on duty, he passed on to the quarters of the cavalry, which was 
much more remote from the head-quarters of the General. But 
when the sentinel came to explain the matter to the officer of the 
guard, it seemed so incredible that he was laughed at, and was 
told that he had seen a ghost. He admitted that the messenger 
was clothed in white, and after being heartily laughed at for his 
credulity, was ordered back to his station, and the guard went 
back to their quarters. This was a most fortunate circumstance, 
for had the alarm of the soldier been believed, nothing could 
have preserved the gallant Major and his band from destruction. 

The whole party, with the English general in their midst, 
marched rapidly toward the shore. When they arrived at the 
boat, their prisoner, who had been hurried away half dressed, 
was permitted to complete his toilet. They re-embarked with 
all possible haste, and had not got far from the island, when the 


2G2 


LAFAYETTE^S FIRST VISIT. 


discharf^e of cannon and tlireo sky-rockets gave the signal for 
alarm. But, for some cause, the signal was not understood by 
those on the ships, and, by this fortunate circumstJince, the gal- 
lant band was preserved, for it would liave been easy for tlieir 
enemy to have cut off their retreat. Although full of anxiety 
and apprehension, they bent every nerv^e to reach their port of 
destination, and haj)pily succeeded without meeting with any 
obstacle. 

When they had landed. General Prescott said to the Major, 
“ Sir, you have made an amazing bold push to-night.^' ^‘We 
liave been foilunate,^' was the modest reply. The I^ritish com- 
mander was conveyed as* a ])risoner to Providence, while this gal- 
lant enterprise soon becoming noised abroad, it was received 
everywhere with unqualified admiration, and the gallant Major 
and his party became the heroes of the campaign. It was not 
long after the performance of this- brilliant exploit that the pri- 
soner was exchanged for General Lee, to the great joy and satis- 
faction of the American army. 


LAFAYETTfyS FIRST VISIT TO AMERICA. 

When only between sixteen and seventeen, Lafayette was 
married to the daughter of the Duke D’Ayen, son of the Duke 
de Noailles, and grandson to the great and good Chancellor 
d’Augesscau; and thus his condition in life seemed to be a.ssured 
to him among the most splendid and powerful in the empire. 
II is fortune which had been accumulating during a long mino- 
rity, was vast; his rank was with the first in Europe; bis con- 
nections brought him the suppoii of the chief persons in France; 
and his individual character — the warm, open, and sincere man- 
ners, which have distinguished him ever since, and given him 
such singular control over the minds of men, made him powerful 
in the confidence of societv wherever he went. It seemed, in- 
deed, as if life had nothing further to offer him, than he could 
surely obtain by walking in the path that was so bright before 
him. 

It was at this period, however, that his thoughts and feelings 
were first turned towards these thirteen colonies, then in the 
darkest and most doubtful passage of their struggle for indepen- 
dence. He made himself acquainted with our agents at Paris, 
and learned from them the state of our affairs. Nothinjr could 
be less tempting to him, whether he sought militar}^ reputation, 


t LAFAYETTE^S FIRST VISIT. 263 

or military instruction ; for our army, at that moment retreating 
through New Jersey, and leaving its traces of blood from the 
naked and torn feet of the soldiery, as it hastened onward, was 
in a state too humble to offer either. Our credit, too, in Europe 
was entirely gone, so that the commissioners, (as they were 
called, without having any commission,) to whom Lafayette still 
persisted in offering his services, were obliged, at last, to acknow- 
ledge that they could not even give him decent means for his 
conveyance. Then,^^ said he, I shall purchase and fit out a 
vessel for myself. 

He did so. The vessel was prepared at Bordeaux, and sent 
round to one of the nearest ports in Spain, that it miglit be beyond 
the reach of the French government. In order more effectually 
to conceal his purpose, he made, just before his embarkation, a 
visit of a few weeks in England (the only time he -was ever 
there,) and was much sought in English society. On his return 
to France, he did not stop at all in the capital, even to see his 
own family, but hastened, with all speed and secresy, to make 
good his escape from the country. It was not until he was thus 
on his way to embark that his romantic undertaking began to be 
known. 

The effect produced in the capital and at court by its publica- 
tion was greater than we should now, perhaps, imagine. Lord 
Stormont, the English ambassador, required the French minister 
to despatch an order for his arrest, not only to Bordeaux, but to 
the French commanders on the West India station; a requisition 
with which the ministry readily complied, for they were at that 
time anxious to preserve a good understanding with England, and 
were seriously angry with a young man who had thus put in 
jeopardy the relations of the two countries. In fact, at Passage, 
on the very borders of France and Spain, a lettre de cachet over- 
took him, and he was arrested and carried back to Bordeaux. 

There, of course, his enterprise was near being finally stopped ; 
but, watching his opportunity, and assisted by one or two friends, 
he disguised himself as a courier, with his face blacked and false 
hair, and rode on, ordering post-horses for a carriage, which he 
had caused to follow him at a suitable distance for this very pur- 
pose, and thus fairly passed the frontiers of the two kingdoms 
only three or four hours before his pursuers reached them. He 
soon arrived at the port where his vessel was waiting for him. 

His family, liowever, still followed him with solicitations to 
return, which he never received ; and the society of the court 
and capital, according to Madame du Beffand^s account of it, was 
in no common state of excitement on the occasion. Something 


204 


LAFAYKTTE^S FIRST VISIT. 


of the same sort happened in London. We talk chiefly/* Hays 
Gibbon, in a letter, dated April 12, 1777, of the Manjuis de 
Lafayette, who was here a few weeks apo. ile is about twenty, 
with a hundred and thirty thousand livres a year; the nephew of 
Noailles, who is ambassador here. He has bought the Duke of 
Kingstf)n’s yacht, [a mistake], and is gone to join the Ameri- 
cans. The court appear to be angry with him.** 

Immediately on arriving the second time at Passage, the wind 
being fair, he embarked. The usual course for French vessels 
attempting to trade with the colonies at that peri(xl was, to sail 
for the West Indies, and then, coming up along our coast, enter 
where they could. ]Lit this course would have exposed Lafayette 
to the naval commanders of his own nation, and he had almost 
as much reason to dread them as to dread British cruisers. When, 
therefore, they were outside of the Canary Islands, Lafayette 
rc(|uired his captain to lay their course directly for the United 
Ftites The captain refused, alleging that, if they should be 
tiken by a British force, and carried into Halifax, the French 
government would never reclaim them, and they could hope for 
nothing but a slow death in a dungeon or a prison-ship. This 
was tnie, but Lafayette knew it before he made the requisition. 
He therefore insisted, until the captain refused in the most posi- 
tive manner. 

Lafayette then told him that the ship was his own private pro- 
perty, that he had made his own arrangements concerning it, and 
that if he, the^ captain, would not sail directly for the United 
States, he should be put in irons, and his command given to the 
next officer. The captain of course submitted, and Lafayette 
gave him a bond for forty thousand francs, in case of any acci- 
dent. They, therefore, now^made sail directly for the southern 
portion of the United States, and arrived unmolested at Charles- 
ton, South Carolina, on the 25th of April, 1777. 

The sensation produced by his appearance in this country was, 
of course, much greater than that produced in Europe by his 
departure. It still stands forth as one of the most prominent 
and important circumstances in our revolutionary^ contest; and, 
as has often been said by one who bore no small part in its trials 
and success, none but those who were then alive can believe what 
an impulse it gave to the hopes of a population almost disheartened 
by a long series of disasters. 

And well it might ; for it taught us, that, in the first rank of 
the first nobility in Europe, men could still be found, who not 
only took an interest in our struggle, but were willing to share 
our sufi'erings ; that our obscure and almost desperate contest for 


ADVENTURES OF JACOB SAMMONS. 


265 


2 

v' 

freedom^ in a remote quarter of the world, could yet find sup- 
porters among those who were the most natural and powerful 
allies of a splendid despotism; that we were the objects of a 
regard and interest throughout the world, which would add to 


I our own resources sufl&cient strength to carry us safely through 
; to final success. 


I 

ADVENTUEES OF JACOB SAMMONS. 


I 

j elACOB Sammons, and his four sons, were celebrated in the 
i border warfare of the Mohawk Valley, as staunch and intrepid 
supporters of the American cause. The whole family, with the 
I exception of one son, who was absent from home at the time, 
were taken prisoners by Sir John Johnson, in his night descent 
on Johnstown, near which town the Sammons family resided. 
The particulars of the arrest, and of the subsequent marvellous 
and perilous adventures of Jacob and Frederick Sammons, we 
draw from Stoners Life of Joseph Brant. A more deeply ab- 
sorbing and wonderful history of escapes by flood and field — 
the history of adventure can scarcely produce. 

On the night of the attack, Thomas, the youngest, had risen 
at an unwonted hour, in order to feed his horses, and go over to 
a neighboring farm to work with his brother. On coming down 
stairs, however, and stepping out of doors half-dressed, to take 
an observation of the weather — it being yet dark, though day 
was just breaking — the thought occurred to him, that should 
any straggling Indians be prowling about, he would stand but 
a poor chance if fallen upon alone. While standing thus in 
doubt, whether to proceed or to wait for more light, he was 
startled by a noise of heavy steps behind, and, as he turned, by 
the glitter of steel passing before his eyes. At the same instant, 
a hand was laid upon his shoulder, with the words — You are 
my prisoner 

In such perfect stillness had the enemy approached, that not 
the sound of a footstep was heard, until the moment when the 
younger Sammons was thus arrested, and the house immediately 
surrounded. One of the officers, with several soldiers, instantly 
entered the house, and ordered the family to get up, and sur- 
render themselves as prisoners. Jacob and Frederick, who were 
in bed, in the second story, sprang upon their feet immediately^ 
and seized their arms. The officer called to them and offered 
quarter if they would surrender. Jacob inquired whether there 
were Indians with them; adding, that if there were, he and his 


9Q 


20G 


ADVENTURES OF JACOB SAMMONS. 


brother would not be taken alive. On beinp: assured to the con- 
trary, the brothers descended the stairs and surrendered. 

The march was resumed, and the captives cenveyed to St. 
John’s, and from thence transferred to the fortress of (Jhamblee. 
The prisoners at this fortress numbered about forty. On the day 
after their arrival, Jacob Sammons having taken an accurate sur- 
vey of the garrison, and the facilities of escape, conceived the 
project of inducing his fellow prisoners to rise upon the guards 
and obtain their freedom. The gJirrison was weak in number, 
and the sentinels less vigilant than is usual among good soldiers. 
The prison doors were opened once a day, when the prisoners 
were visited by the proper officer, with four or five soldiers. 
Sammons had observed where the arms of the guards were 
stacked in the yard, and his plan was, that some of the prisoners 
should arrest and disarm the visiting guard, on the opening of 
their door, while the residue were to rush forth, seize the arms, 
and fight their way out. 

The proposition was acceded to by his brother Frederick, and 
one other man, named Van Sluyck, but was considered too daring 
by the great body of the prisoners to be undertaken. It was 
thcrefi^re abandoned, and the brothers sought afterwards only for 
a chance for escaping by themselves. Within three days, the 
desired opportunity occurred, viz., on the 18th of June, 1780. 
The prisoners were supplied with an allowance of spruce beer, for 
which two of their number were detached daily, to bring the 
cask from the beer-house, under a guard of five men, with fixed 
bayonets. 

Having reason to suppose that the arms of the guards, though 
charged, were not primed, the brothers so contrived matters, as 
to be tiiken together to the brewery on the day mentioned, with 
an understanding, that, at a given point, they were to dart from 
the guard, and run for their lives — believing that the confusion 
of the moment, and the consequent delay of priming their mus- 
kets by the guards, would enable them to escape beyond the ordi- 
nary range of musket shot. 

The project was boldly executed. At the concerted moment, 
the brothers sprang from their conductors, and stretched across 
the plain with great fiectness. The alarm was given, and the 
whole garrison was soon after them in hot pursuit. Unfortunately 
for Jacob, he fell into a ditch, and sprained his ankle. Perceiv- 
ing the accident, Frederick returned to his assistance; but the 
other generously admonished him to secure his own flight if pos- 
sible, and leave him to the chance of war. 

llccoveriug from his fall, and regardless of the accident, 


ADVENTURES OF JACOB SAMMONS. 


267 


Jacob spranp^ forward again, with as much expedition as possible, 
but finding the lameness impeded his progress, he plunged into a 
thick clump of shrubs and trees, and was fortunate enough to 
hide himself between two logs, before the pursuers came up. 
Twenty or thirty shots had previously been fired upon them, but 
without effect. In consequence of the smoke of their fire, proba- 
bly, the guards had not observed Jacob when he threw himself 
into the thicket, and supposing that, like his brother, he had 
passed around it, they followed on, until they were fairly dis- 
tanced by Frederick, of whom they lost sight and trace. 

They returned in about half an hour, halting by the bushes, 
in which the other fugitive was sheltered, and so near, that he 
could distinctly hear their conversation. The officer in command 
was Capt. Steele. On calling his men together, some were swear- 
ing, and others laughing at the race, and the speed of the ‘ long- 
legged Dutchmen,^ as they called the flying prisoners. The pur- 
suit being abandoned, the guards returned to the fort. 

Following the bank of the Sorel, Jacob passed Fort St. John’s 
soon after day-break, on the morning of the 14th. Ilis purpose 
was to swim the river at that place, and pursue his course home- 
ward, through the wilderness on the eastern shore of Lake Cham- 
plain ; but, just as he was preparing to enter the water, he des- 
cried a boat approaching from below, filled with officers and sol- 
diers of the enemy. Concealing himself again in the woods, he 
resumed his journey after their departure, but had not proceeded 
more than two or three miles, before he came upon a party of 
. several hundred men, engaged in getting out timber for the public 
works at the fort. 

To avoid these, he was obliged to describe a wide circuit, in 
the course of which, at about 12 o’clock, he came to a small clear- 
ing^. Within the enclosure was a house, and in the field were a 
man and a boy engaged in hoeing potatoes. They were at that 
moment called to dinner, and supposing them to be French, who, 
he had heard, were rather friendly to the American cause than 
otherwise — incited also by hunger and fatigue — he made bold 
to present himself, trusting that he might be invited to partake 
of their hospitality. But, instead of a friend, he found an 
enemy. 

On making known his character, he was roughly received. 
^^It is by such villains that you are,” replied the forester, ^Hhat I 
was obliged to fly from Lake Champlain.” The rebels,” he 
added, had robbed him of all he possessed, and he would now 
deliver his self-invited guest to the guard, which,” he said, was 
not more than a quarter of a mile distant.” Sammons promptly 


% 


2G8 


ADVENTURES OP JACOB SAMMONS 


answered him that that was more than he could do V* The 
refugee then said he would go for the guard himself to which 
Sammons replied, that he might act as he pleased, but that all 
the men in Canada should not make him again a prisoner/^ 

The man thereupon returned with liLs son to the potato-field, 
and resumed his work, while his more compassionate wife gave 
him a bowl of bread and milk, which he ate sitting on the thresh- 
hold of the door, to guard against surprise. While in the house, 
he saw a musket, powder-horn, and bullet-pouch hanging against 
the wall, of which he determined, if possible, to possess himself, 
that he might be able to procure food during the long and soli- 
tary march before him. On retiring, therefore, he travelled only 
far enough into the wfX)ds for concealment — returning to the 
woodinan^s house in the evening, for the purpose of obtaining 
the musket and ammunition. ]3ut he was again beset by immi- 
nent peril. 

\'ery soon after he entered the liouse, the sound of approach- 
ing voices was heard, and he took to the rude chamber for secu- 
rity, where he lay flat upon the irregular floor, and looking through 
the interstices, saw eleven soldiers enter, who, it soon appeared, 
came for milk. 1 1 is situation was now exceedingly critical. The 
churlish proprietor might inform against him, or a single movement 
betray him. But neither circumstance occurred. The unwel- 
come visitors departed in due time, and the family retired to bed, 
excepting the wife, who, as Jacob descended from the chamber, 
refreshed him with another bowl of milk. She endeavored to 
persuade him to secrete himself in the woods for two days, when 
she would be enabled to furnish him with some provisions, for a 
6U]>ply of which her husband was going to the fort the next day, 
and she would likewise endeavor to provide him with a pair of 
shoes. 


ADYENTUllES OF JACOB SAM310NS. 

(concluded.) 

Disinclined to linger so long in the country of the enemy, 
and in the neighborhood of a British fort, he took his departure 
forthwith. But such had been the kindness of the good woman, 
that he had it not in his heart to seize upon her husband^s arms, 
and he left this wdld scene of rustic hospitality without supplies, 
and without the means of procuring them. Arriving once more 
at the water’s edge, at the lower end of Lake Champlain, he 
came upon a hut, within which, on cautiously approaching it for 


ADVENTURES OF JACOB SAMMONS. 


269 


reconuoisance, lie discovered a party of soldiers all soundly 
asleep. 

Their canoe was moored to the sliore, into which he sprang, 
and paddled himself up the lake, under the most encouraging 
prospect of a speedy and comparatively easy voyage to its head, 
whence his return home would be unattended with either diffi- 
culty or danger. But his pleasing anticipations were extin- 
guished on the night following, as he approached the Isle au Noix, 
where he descried a fortification, and the glitter of bayonets brist- 
ling in the air, as the moonbeams played upon the burnished 
arms of the sentinels, who were pacing their tedious rounds. 
The lake being very narrow at this point, and perceiving that 
both sides were fortified, he thought the attempt to shoot his 
canoe between them, rather too hazardous an experiment. 

His only course, therefore, was to run ashore and resume his 
travels on foot. Nor on landing was his case in any respect en- 
viable. Without shoes, without food, and without the means of 
obtaining either, a long journey before him, through a deep and 
trackless wilderness, it may well be imagined that his mind was 
not cheered by the most agreeable anticipations. But without 
pausing to indulge unnecessarily his ^Hhick coming fancies,’^ he 
commenced his solitary journey, directing his course along the 
eastern lake shore toward Albany. 

During the first four days of his progress he subsisted entirely 
upon the bark of the birch, chewing the twigs as he went. On 
the fourth day, while resting by a brook, he heard a rippling of 
the water caused by the fish as they were stemming its current. 
He succeeded in catching a few of these, but having no means 
of striking a fire, after devouring one of them raw, the others 
were thrown away. 

His feet by this time were cruelly cut, bruised, and torn by 
thorns, briars, and stones, and while he could scarcely proceed by 
reason of their soreness, hunger and fatigue united to retard his 
cheerless march. On the fifth day his miseries were augmented 
by the hungry swarms of musquitoes, which settled upon him in 
clouds, while traversing a swamp. On the same day he fell upon 
the nest of a black duck — the duck sitting quietly upon her eggs 
until he came up and caught her. The bird wtxs no sooner de- 
prived of her life and her feathers, than he devoured the whole, 
including its head and feet. The eggs were nine in number, which 
Sammons took with him; but on opening one, he found a little 
half-made duckling, already alive. Against such food his stomach 
revolted, and he was obliged to throw the eggs away. 

On the tenth dav he came to a small lake. His feet were now 

23 * 


270 


ADVENTURES OF JACOB SAMMONS. 


in sucli a horrible state that he could scarcely crawl alonp^. Find- 
in<>; a mitigation of pain bybathiri" them in water, he plunged 
his feet into the lake, and lay down upon its margin. For a time 
it seemed as though he could never rise upon his feet again. 
Worn down by hunger and fatigue, bruised in body and wounded 
in spirit, in a lone wilderness, with no eye to pity and no human 
act to protect, he felt as though he must remain in that spot until 
it should please God, in his gfX)dness, to (|uench the dim spark 
of life that remained. Still he was comforted in some measure 
by the thought that he was in the hands of a Being without whose 
knowledge not a sparrow falls to the ground. 

Kefreshed at length, though to a trifling degree, he resumed 
his weary way, when on raising his right leg on the trunk of a 
fallen tree he was bitten in the calf by a rattlesnake. Quick as a 
flash, with his pocket-knife, he made an incision in his leg, re- 
moving the wounded flesh to a greater depth than the fangs of the 
serpent had penetrated. His next business was to kill the venom- 
ous reptile, and dress it for eating; thus appropriating the enemy 
that had sought to tiike his life to its prolongation. 

His first meal was made from the heart and fat of the serpent. 
Feeling somewhat strengthened by the repast, and finding, more- 
over, that lie could not travel farther in his present condition, he 
determined to remain where he was for a few days, and by repose 
and feeding on the body of the snake, recruit his strength. Dis- 
covering, also, a dry fungus upon the trunk of a maple tree, he 
succeeded in striking a fire, by which his comforts were essen- 
tially increased. Still he was obliged to creep upon his hands 
and knees to gather food, and gather fuel, and, on the third day, 
he was in such a state of exhaustion as to be utterly unable to 
proceed. 

Supposing that death was inevitable and very near, he crawled 
to the foot of a tree, upon the bark of which he commenced in- 
scribing his name, in the expectiition that he should leave his 
bones there, and in the hopes that, in some way, by the aid of the 
inscription, his family might ultimately be apprised of his fate. 
While engaged in this sad work a cloud of painful thoughts 
crowded upon his mind ; the tears involuntary stole down his 
cheeks, and before he had completed the melancholy task, he fell 
asleep. 

On the fourth day of his residence at this place he began to 
gain strength, and as a part of the serpent yet remained, he de- 
termined upon another eflbrt to resume his journey. But he 
could not do so without devising some substitute for shoes. For 
this purpose he cut up his hat and waistcoat, binding them upon 


271 


LIEUTENANT SLOOUMB. 

% 

his feet, and thus he hobbled alon^. On the followinsf night, 
while lying in the woods, he became strongly impressed with a 
belief that he was not far distant from a human habitation. He 
had seen no indications of proximity to the abode of man ; but 
nevertheless, he was so confident of the fact that he wept with joy. 

Buoyed up and strengthened by this impression, ke resumed 
his journey on the following morning; and in the afternoon, it 
being the 28th of June, he reached a house in the town of Pitts- 
ford, in the New Hampshire Grants — now forming the State of 
Vermont. He remained there for several days, both to recruit 
his health and, if possible, to gain intelligence of his brother. 
But no tidings came ; and as he knew Frederick to be a capital 
woodsman, he, of course, concluded that sickness, death, or re- 
capture, must have interrupted his journey. Procuring a con- 
veyance, Jacob travelled to Albany, and thence to Schenectady, 
where he had the happiness of finding his wife and family. 


LIEUTENANT SLOCUMB. 

When Lord Cornwallis set out from Wilmington, with the 
avowed purpose of conquering Virginia, he encamped, on the 
march from Halifax on the Neuse, in what is now called Wayne 
county. North Carolina. His head-quarters were at Springbank ; 
while Colonel Tarleton, with his renowned legion, encamped on 
the plantation of Lieutenant Slocumb. This consisted of level 
and extensive fields, which at that season presented a most invi- 
ting view of fresh verdure from the mansion house. Lord Corn- 
wallis himself gave it the name of ^‘Pleasant Green,^^ which it 
ever afterwards retained. 

The owner of this fine estate held a subaltern^ s commission in 
the State Line under Colonel Washington, and was in command of 
a troop of light horse, raised in his own neighborhood, whose 
general duty it was to act as rangers, scouring the country for 
many miles around, watching the movements of the enemy, and 
punishing the loyalists when detected in their vocation of pillage 
and murder. These excursions had been frequent, for two or 
three years, and were often of several weeks duration. 

At the present time Slocumb had returned to the vicinity, and 
had been sent with twelve or fifteen recruits to act as scouts in 
the neighborhood of the British general. The morning of the 
day on which Tarleton* took possession of his plantation, he was 
near Springbank, and reconnoitered the encampment of Corwallis, 


I 


272 LIEUTENANT SLOCUMB. 

wliich he supposed to be his whole force. Tie then, with his 
party, pursued his way slowly back in the direction of his own 
house, little drearning that his beautiful and peaceful home, where, 
some time before, he had left his wife and child, was then in pos- 
session of the terrible Tarleton. 

During these frequent excursions of the rangers, and the neces- 
sary absence of her husband, the superintendence of the planta- 
tion had always devolved upon Mrs. 81ocumb. She depended for 
protection upon her slaves, whose fidelity she liad proved, and 
from lier own fearless and intrepid spirit. The scene of the oc- 
cupation of her house, and Tarleton^s residence with her, are 
di*awn from her own relation. 

It was about ten o’clock, on a beautiful spring morning, that 
a splendidly-dressed officer, accompanied by two aids, and followed 
at a short distance by a guard of some twenty troopers, dashed up 
to the piazza in front of the ancient-looking mansion. 31 rs. Slo- 
cumb was sitting there, with her child and a near relative young 
. lady, who afterwards became the wife of Major Williams. A few 
house servants w'cre also on the piazza. 

’J’he officer raised his cap, and bowing to his horse’s neck, 
addressed the lady with the (piestion — Have I the pleasure of 
seeing the mistress of this house and plantation It belongs 

to my husband.” Is he at home c” He is not.” Is he a 
rebel No sir. He is in the army of his country, and fight- 

ing against our invadere; therefore not a rebel.” It is not a 
little singular, that although the people of that period gloried in 
their rebellion, they always took offence at being called rebels. 

1 fear, madam,” said the officer, that we differ in opinion. A 
friend to his country, will be a friend of the king, our master.” 

Slaves only acknowledge a master in this countr}^,” replied the 
lady. 

A deep flush crossed the florid cheeks of Tarleton, for he was 
the speaker ; and turning to one of his aids, he ordered him to 
pitch the tents, and form the encampment in the orchard and 
field on the right. To the other aid, his orders were to detach a 
quarter-guard, and station piquets on each road. Then bowing 
very low, he added, ‘‘ 3Iadam, the service of his 3Iajesty requires 
the temporary occupation of your property ; and if it will not be 
too great an inconvenience, I will take up my quarters in vour 
house.” 

The tone admitted no controversy. 3Irs. Slocumb answered. 

3Iy family consists of only myself, my sister, my child, and a 
few uegrues. We are your prisoners.” 

While the men were busied, different officers came up at in- 


I 


LIEUTENANT SLOCUMB. 273 

tervals, making tlieir reports and receiving orders. Among 

others, a tory captain, whom Mrs. Slocumb immediately recog- 
nised — for before joining the royal army, he had lived fifteen or 
twenty miles below — ^I’eceived orders in her hearing to take his 
troop and scour the country for two or three miles round. In an 
hour every thing was quiet, and the plantation presented the 
romantic spectacle of a regular encampment, of some ten or 
eleven hundred of the choicest cavalry of the British monarch. 

Mrs. Slocumb now addressed herself to the duty of preparing 
for her uninvited guests. A dinner was prepared, consisting of 
turkey, ham, beef, fowls, with vegetables, fruits, and some excel- 
lent peach brandy, prepared under Lieutenant Slocumb^s own 
supervision. This latter beverage received the unqualified praise 
of the party; and its merits were fully discussed. A Scotch 
officer praising it by the name of whiskey, protested that he had 
never drank as good out of Scotland. An officer speaking with a 
slight brogue, insisted it was not whiskey, and that no Scotch 
drink ever equalled it. To my mind,^^ said he, it tastes as 
yonder orchard smells.^^ 

Allow me, madam,^^ said Tarleton, to inquire where the 
spirits we are drinking is procured ‘‘ From the orchard where 
your tents stand,^^ answered Mrs. Slocumb. Colonel,^' said 
the Irish captain, when we conquer this country, is it not to be 
divided out amongst us The officers of this army,^^ replied 

the Colonel, will undoubtedly receive large possessions of the 
conquered American provinces. 

Mrs. Slocumb here interposed. Allow me to observe, and 
prophecy,^^ said she, ^Hhe only land in the United States, which 
will ever remain in possession of a British officer, will measure 
but six feet by two.^^ Excuse me, madam,^^ remarked Tarle- 
ton, for your sake, I regret to say — this beautiful plantation 
will be the ducal seat of some of us Don^t trouble yourself 
about me,^^ retorted the spirited lady ; my husband is not a 
man who will allow a duke, or even a king, to have a. quiet seat 
upon his ground. 

At this point, the conversation was interrupted by rapid vol- 
leys of fire-arms, appearing to proceed from the wood, a short 
distance to the eastward. One of the aids pronounced it some 
straggling scout running from the picket-guard ; but the experi- 
ence of Colonel Tarleton, could not be easily deceived. There 
are rifles and muskets,^^ said he, as well as pistols; and too 
many to pass unnoticed. Order boots and saddles, and you — 
captain, take your troop in the direction of the firing. 

The officer rushed out to execute his orders, while the Colonel 


274 


LIEUTENANT SLOCUMB. 


walked into the piazza, whither he was immediately followed by 
the anxious ladies. Mrs. Hlocumh’s agitation and alarm may be 
imagined ; for she guessed but too well the cause of the interrup- 
tion. On the first arrival of the officers, she had been impor- 
tuned even with harsh threats — not, however, by Tarleton — to 
tell where her husband, when absent on duty, was likely to be 
found ; but after her repeated and peremptory refusals had escaped 
further molestation on the subject. She feared now that he had 
returned unexpectedly, and might fall into the enemy’s hands, 
before he was aware of their presence. 

Her sole hope was in a precaution she had adopted soon after 
the coming of her unwelcome guests. Having heard Tarleton 
give the order to the tory captain as before-mentioned, to patrol 
the country, she immediately sent for an old negro, and gave him 
directions to take a bag of corn to the mill, about four miles dis- 
tant, on the road she knew her husband must travel, if he re- 
turned that day. “Big George” was instructed to warn his 
master of the danger of approaching his home. With the indo- 
lence and curiosity natural to his race, however, the old fellow 
remained loitering about the premises, and was at this time lurk- 
ing under the hedge-row, admiring the red coats, dashing plumes, 
and shining helmets of the British troops. 

The colonel and the ladies continued on the look-out from the 
piazza. “ May I be allowed, madam,” at length said Tarleton, 
“ without offence, to inquire if any part of Washington’s army 
is in this neighborhood 

“I presume it is known to you,” said Mrs. Slocumb, “that 
the Marquis and Greene are in this State. And you would not, 
of course,” she added, after a slight pause, “ be surprised at a 
call from Lee, or your old friend Colonel Washington, who, 
although a perfect gentleman, it is said, shook your hand, (point- 
ing to the scar left by Washington’s sabre), very rudely when 
last you met.” 

This spirited answer inspired Tarleton with apprehensions that 
the skirmish in the woods was only the prelude to a concerted 
attack on his camp. His only reply was a loud order to form 
the troops on the right; and springing on his charger, he dashed 
down the avenue a few hundred feet to a breach in the hedge- 
row, leaped the fence, and in a moment was at the head of his 
regiment, which was already in line. 

Meanwhile Lieutenant Slocumb, with John Howell, a private 
in his band, Henry Williams, and the brother of Mrs. Slocumb, 
Charles Cook, a boy of about thirteen years of age, were leading 
a hot pursuit of the tory captain who had been sent to reconnoitre 


LIEUTENANT SLOCUMB. 


275 


. the country, and some of his routed troop. These were first dis- 
jcerned in the open grounds east and northeast of the plantation, 

, I closely pursued by a body of American mounted militia ; while a 
running fight was kept up with different weapons, in which four 
iOr five broadswords gleamed conspicuous. The foremost of the 
[pursuing party appeared too busy with the tories to see anything 
seise ; and they entered the avenue at the same moment with the 
i party pursued. With what horror and consternation did Mrs. 
f Slocumb recognise her husband, her brother, and two of her 
..neighbors, in chase of the tory captain and four of his band, 
already half way down the avenue, and unconscious that they 
i were rushing into the enemy’s midst. 

fl About the middle of the avenue one of the tories fell ; and 

I the course of the brave and imprudent young officers was sud- 
denly arrested by ^^Big George,’’ who sprang directly in front of 
their horses, crying, Hold on Massa ! de debbil here ! Look 
yon !” A glance to the left showed the young men their danger; 
they were within pistol-shot of a thousand men drawn up in order 
of battle. Wheeling their horses they discovered a troop already 
'leaping the fence into the avenue in their rear. Quick as thought 
they again whirled their horses and dashed down the avenue, 
directly towards the house, where stood the quarter-guard to re- 
iceive them. 

On reaching the garden fence — a rude structure formed of a 
kind of lath, and called a wattled fence — they leaped that and 
!}the next, amid a shower of balls from the guard, cleared the 
canal at one tremendous leap, and, scouring across the open field 
to the northwest, were in the shelter of the wood before their 
pursuers could clear the fence of the enclosure. The whole 
ground of this adventure may be seen as a traveller passes over 
the Wilmington railroad, a mile and a half south of Dudley 
depot. 

A platoon had commenced the pursuit ; but the trumpets 
sounded the recall before the flying Americans had crossed the 
canal. The presence of mind and lofty language of the heroic 
wife, had convinced the British colonel that the daring men w*ho 
so fearlessly dashed into his camp were supported by a formidable 
force close at hand. Had the truth been known, and the fugi- 
tives pursued, nothing could have prevented the destruction, not 
only of the four who fled, but of the rest of the company on the 
east side of the plantation. 

Tarleton had rode back to the front of the house, where he 
remained eagerly looking after the fugitives till they disappeared 
in the wood. He called for the tory captain, who presently came 


276 


LADY HARRIET ACKLAND. 


forward, questioned him about the attack, asked the names of tho 
American officers, and dismissed him to have his wounds dressed, 
and see after his men. The last part of the order was needless ; 
for nearly one-half of his men had fallen. 

The British officers now returned to their peach brandy and 
coffee, and closed the day with a merry night. Slocumb and his 
companions passed rapidly around the plantation and returned to 
the ground where the encounter had taken place, collecting on 
tho way the stragglers of their troop. Slocumb raised a com- 
pany of two hundred men, and with them thoroughly harassed 
the rear of the royal army on its march until it crossed the 
Boanoke, when he hastened to join Lafayette at Warrenton. 


LADY HABMET ACKLAND. 

Lady Harriet Ackland accompanied her husband to 
Canada in the beginning of the year 1776. In the course of 
that campaign she traversed a vast space of country in different 
extremities of the seasons, and with difficulties that an European 
traveller will not easily conceive, in order to attend her husband 
in a poor hut at Chamblee, upon his sick-bed. In the open- 
ing of the campaign of 1777, she was restrained from offering 
herself to a share of the hazard expected before Ticonderoga by 
the positive injunction of her husband. The day after the con- 
quest of that place he was badly wounded, and she crossed Lake 
Champlain to join him. 

As soon as he recovered. Lady Harriet proceeded to follow his 
fortunes through the campaign. Major Ackland, her husband, 
commanded the British grenadiers, who formed the most ad- 
vanced post of the army, which required them to be so much on 
the alert, that, frequently, no person slept out of their clothes. 
In one of these situations a tent, in which the Major and Lady 
Harriet slept, suddenly took fire. An orderly-sergeant of grena- 
diers, with great hazard of suffocation, dragged out the first per- 
son he caught hold of; it proved to be the Major. Fortunately, 
his lady at the same moment escaped under the canvass of the 
back part of the tent. 

This accident neither altered the resolution nor the cheerful- 
ness of Lady Harriet, who was in a hut during the whole of the 
action which followed, and close to the field of battle. In a sub- 
sequent engagement Major Ackland was desperately wounded 
and taken prisoner. Lady Harriet sustained the shock with 


BRAVERY OF GENERAL LOGAN. 


277 


great fortitude, and determined to pass tlie enemy’s camp and 
req^uest General Gates’ permission to attend her husband. 

Having obtained permission of General Burgoyne, Lady Har- 
riet, accompanied by the chaplain of the regiment, one female 
servant, and the Major’s valet-de-chambre, rowed down the river 
to meet the enemy. The night was far advanced before the boat 
reached the enemy’s outposts, and the sentinel would not let it 
pass, nor even come on shore. In vain was the flag of truce 
offered, and the state of this extraordinary passenger strongly 
represented. 

The guard apprehensive of treachery, and punctilious in obe- 
dience to his orders, threatened to fire into the boat if they 
offered to stir before daylight. Her anxiety and sufferings were 
thus protracted through seven or eight dark and cold hours ; and 
her reflections on that first reception could not give her very en- 
couraging ideas of the treatment she was afterwards to expect. 
But in the morning, as soon as her case was made known to 
General Gates, he received her with all the humanity and respect 
due to her rank and exemplary conjugal virtue, and immediately 
restored her to her husband. 


BRAYEBY OF GENERAL LOGAN. 

General Benjamin Logan, a Virginian by birth, resided 
during the war in a small settlement called Logan’s Fort, in 
Kentucky. Here, on one occasion, he distinguished himself by 
an act of courage and generosity unexcelled in the history of ro- 
mantic and chivalrous daring. 

In the month of May, 1777, as the women of his family 
were engaged in milking the cows at the gate of the little fort, 
and some of the garrison attending them, a party of Indians ap- 
peared and fired upon them. One man was shot dead, and two 
more wounded, one of them mortally. The whole party, includ- 
ing one of the wounded men, instantly ran into the fort and 
closed the gate. The enemy quickly showed themselves upon 
the edge of a canebrake, within close rifle-shot of the gate, and 
seemed numerous and determined. Having a moment’s leisure 
to look around, Logan beheld a spectacle which awakened his, 
most lively interest and compassion. 

A man named Harrison had been severely wounded, and still 
lay near the spot where he had fallen, within view both, of the 
garrison and the Indians. The poor fellow was, at intervals, en- 
24 


278 


BRAVERY OF GENERAL LOGAN. 


deavoring to crawl in the direction of the fort, and had succeeded 
in reaching a cluster of bushes, which, however, were too thin to 
shelter his person from the enemy. His wife and family were 
in the fort, and in deep distress at his situation. The Indians 
undoubtedly forbore to fire upon him, from the supposition that 
some of the garrison would attempt to save him, in which case 
they held themselves in readiness to fire upon them from the 
canebrake. The case was a trying one. It seemed impossible 
to save him without sacrificing the lives of several of the garri- 
son ; and their numbers were already far too few for an effectual 
defence, having originally amounted only to fifteen men, of whom 
three had already been put hors de combat. 

Yet the spectacle was so moving, and the lamentations of the 
wounded man^s family so distressing, that it was difficult to resist j 
making an effort to rescue him. Logan tried to persuade some 
of his men to accompany him in a sally, but so evident and 
appalling was the danger, that all at first refused ] one herculean : 
fellow observing that he was a ‘‘ weakly man,^^ and another de- 
claring that he was sorry for Harrison, but that the skin was 
closer than the shirt.^^ At length, John Martin collected his i 
courage, and declared his willingness to accompany Logan, say- 
ing, that he could only die once, and that he was as ready now 
as he ever could be.’^ The two men opened the gate and started 
upon their expedition, Logan leading the way. 

They had not advanced five steps, when Harrison, perceiving 
them, made a vigorous effort to rise, upon which Martin, suppos- 
ing him able to help himself, immediately sprang back within 
the gate. 

Harrison^s strength almost instantly failed, and he fell at full 
length upon the grass. Logan paused a moment after the deser- 
tion of Martin, then suddenly sprang forward to the spot where 
Harrison lay, rushing through a tremendous shower of rifle-balls, 
which was poured upon him from every quarter around the fort 
capable of covering an Indian. Seizing the wounded man in his 
arms, he ran with him to the fort through another heavy fire, 
and entered it unhurt, although the gate and picketing near him 
were riddled with balls, and his hat and clothes pierced in seve- 
ral places. 



SINGULAR ADVENTURE. 279 

SINGULAR ADVENTURE. 

Thomas Ferris, young and active, with a vigorous and pow- 
erful frame, became one of the deadliest and most dangerous 
enemies to the invaders of America. He was generally employed 
in collecting information of the movements of the British forces, 
and this duty brought him into frequent connection with Luther 
Kennicut, one of those persons employed by the commander-in- 
chief to frequent the camp of the enemy in the c.ipaciry of 
spies, and who have been immortalized in the character of Har- 
vey Birch. This class of men, in doing signal service to their 
country, were placed in situations most trying to their patriotism. 
They were usually suspected to be refugees, and as such were 
frequently exposed to the honest indignation of their whig neigh- 
bors ; and indignities thus heaped upon them by those whom they 
served could only have been allayed by the consciousness of the 
great benefits their services were conferring upon the patriotic 
cause. They usually went about as pedlers, and would pass 
through the enemy’s lines, and even penetrate into the very pre- 
sence of the British leaders, by means of their pursuit, with un- 
suspected impunity. 

This Kennicut was one of the most active men thus employed. 
Whenever any movement was in contemplation by the British 
army, he would adroitly manage to become possessed of all the 
particulars, and then pass through the line under the pretence of 
selling his articles, and, meeting his accomplices in secret places 
at night in the depths of the wood, convey his intelligence to 
the American officers. Young Ferris was one of those employed 
in receiving the intelligence thus gained by Kennicut ; and he de- 
clared after the war that many serious consequences were averted 
from the American army, by means of the faithful services of the 
despised, but patriotic pedler. 

In one of the many interviews between Ferris and Kennicut, 
a bold plan was conceived by them for the surprise and capture 
of one of the principal British officers while in his own camp. 
The British army were encamped on Throg’s Neck, and the 
quarters of the officers, whom they designed to capture, were in 
the house of Mr. Ferris. Two other enterprising patriots were 
engaged in the attempt. On the evening fixed upon, Ferris and 
his two companions, Kennicut appointing to meet them on the 
Neck, cautiously approached the sentinels. Their manner of 
passing the guard was ingenious and bold. It was done by 
crawling along the shore through the sedge, cautiously advancing 


I 


280 


SINGULAR ADVENTURE. 


as the sentineFs back was turned toward them, and when he ad- 
vanced they would lie close and still in the sedge. By this slow 
and critical means, they at last passed the sentinel, and got on to 
the Neck, and soon joined Kennicut at the place of meeting. A 
place of concealment was now found for them, and the plan for 
the capture arranged, which was to take place at midnight of the 
next evening. 

Young Ferris, who was acquainted with the house, was to con- 
duct the party to the apartment of the officer, whom they were 
to seize, gag, and muffle, and escape with him from the Neck as 
expeditiously and silently as possible. It was a daring plan, but 
its success would crown them with lasting honor. After the 
completion of all the arrangements, Kennicut left them. Some 
little time after his departure, Ferris becoming very thirsty, in- 
cautiously ventured to the well, near to the house, for the pur- 
pose of procuring water, when lie was observed and recognised 
by one of the negro slaves belonging to the house. In a few 
minutes after this incident, Kennicut came to them hurriedly, 
and informed them that their presence on the Neck was known ; 
that the guard was doubled all round the Neck, and that a 
thorough search was ordered to be made for them, at the first 
approach of daylight. 

They were now in a critical situation. To escape from the 
Neck in the same manner they reached it was impossible, as at 
this point a vigilant watch would doubtless be stationed. Ferris 
proposed to escape by swimming, but his two companions could 
not swim, and they begged most earnestly not to be abandoned. 
But the resources of men inured to danger, and familiar with 
stratagem, were not exhausted. Towards the lower end of the 
Neck there was an old stone wall, which had been built double, 
and which was surrounded by a thick and tangled mass of plumb 
bushes. 

The plan was to remove one side of the wall, and rebuild it in 
such a manner as to afford hollow places for their concealment. 
Ferris and Kennicut first built in their two companions, and 
lastly, Ferris took his place and Kennicut alone completed the 
entombment. These singular and ingenious cages having been 
finished, Kennicut surveyed them closely, and with scrutiny on 
all sides. The form of the wall was but little altered from its 
original shape, while the screen.-work of bushes effectually 
curtained it from observation. Assured of the completeness of 
the concealment, Kennicut, with a few words of caution, left 
Ferris and his companions in their voluntary imprisonment 


EXPLOITS OF SERGEANT JASPER. 


281 


with a promise to return to them whenever he might do so with 
prudence. 

The situation of our heroes must indeed have been trying. 
It was not long before daylight appeared, and then they could 
hear the search that was going on all around them. Presently 
the tramp of soldiers was heard, which grew nearer and nearer, 
and their hearts sank despairingly within them, as they could 
detect their approach directly to the spot where they were con- 
cealed. Two files of soldiers, one on each side of the wall, came 
along close by the side of the wall, and so near to them, that 
with a switch two feet long, the prisoners could have touched 
them. Suddenly, and to the great terror of the adventurers, 
the word of halt was given, and our heroes believed their disco- 
very certain. 

The grass, which had been trampled down by them in the 
process of erecting their prisons, arrested the attention of the 
soldiers, and a brief conference as to its cause, was held within 
hearing of the captives. One remarked, that there the rebels 
must have lain last night but another was of opinion, that it 
was where the deserters, who had escaped the day previous, had 
lain during the night. Satisfied with this solution of the cause, 
the party resumed their march, much to the relief and delight 
of our incarcerated friends. They remained in their conceal- 
ment the entire day, and much of the ensuing night, without 
food, and in a state of unceasing anxiety. Towards morning, 
Kennicut came and released them. They now abandoned their 
intention of securing the officer, and set about eseaping from the 
Neck in the same manner they had come upon it. 


EXPLOITS OF SERGEANT JASPER. 

Every reader of American history is acquainted with the name 
of Sergeant Jasper. He served in ^^Marion^s Brigade,^^ and by 
his heroism and talents he won a reputation rarely acquired by 
one in so obscure a position. At the celebrated battle of Fort 
Moultrie, in the hottest fire of the battle, the flag of the fort was 
shot away, and fell without the fort. Jasper instantly leapt over 
the ramparts on to the beach, where he was fully exposed to a 
most terrific fire, and seizing the flag, bound it to a sponge-staff, 
and stuck it on the rampart in the sand. This act was performed 
with the most undisturbed coolness, and received the acclamations 

24 * 


7 


282 EXPLOITS OF SERGEANT JASPER. 

of the soldiers. After the battle General Rutledge presented him 
with a sword as a token of esteem for his chivalrous bravery. 

Jasper possessed remarkable talents for a scout. He could wear 
all disguises with admirable ease and dexterity. He was a per- 
fect Proteus in ability to alter his appearance; perpetually entering 
the camp of the enemy without detection, and invariably return- 
ing to his own with soldiers he had seduced, or prisoners he had 
captured. Such was the confidence in his fidelity and skill that 
a roving commission was granted him, with liberty to pick his 
associates from the brigade. Of these he seldom chose more than 
six. He would often go off and return with a prisoner before his 
absence was known. He was known to catch a party that was I 
looking for him. On one occasion he went into the British lines i 
at Savannah, as a deserter, and was gladly received. After a stay j 
of eight days, in which time he learned of the strength, situation, I 
and intentions of the enemy, he returned to his companions. | 

While in the exercise of his roving privileges, he, on one occa- | 
sion, visited the post of the enemy at Eben^zer. At this post he ! 
had a brother, who held the same rank in the British service that l 
he held in the American. This instance was quite too common | 
in the history of the period and country, to occasion much sur- 
prise, or cause any suspicion of the integrity of either party. 
William Jasper loved his brother and wished to see him: it is 
very certain, at the same time, that he did not deny himself the 
privilege of seeing all around him. The tory was alarmed at | 
William^ s appearance in the British camp, but the other quieted : 
his fears by representing himself as no longer an American sol- I 
dier. He checked the joy which this declaration excited in his 
brother’s mind, by assuring him that though he found little en- i 
couragement in fighting for his country, he had not the heart to | 
fight against her.’’ i 

Our scout lingered for two or three days in the British camp, j 
and then, by a detour^ regained that of the Americans — reporting ; 
to his commander all that he had seen. He was encouraged to ' 
repeat his visit a few weeks after, but this time he took with him ' 
a comrade, one Sergeant Newton, a fellow quite as brave in spirit ' 
and strong in body as himself. Here he was again well received ! 
by his brother, who entertained the guests kindly for several days. | 
Meanwhile a small party of Americans were brought into Ebene- 
zer as captives, over whom hung the danger of short shrift and 
sudden cord.” They were on their way to Savannah for trial. • 
They had taken arms with the British, as hundreds more had | 
done, when the country was deemed reconquered; but, on the | 
approach of the American army, had rejoined their countrymen, j 


EXPLOITS OF SERGEANT JASPER. 


and were now once more at the mercy of the power with which 
they had broken faith. ^^It will go hard with them/^ said the 
tory Jasper to his whig brother; but the secret comment of the 
other was, “ It shall go hard with me first.^^ There was a woman, 
the wife of one of the prisoners, who, with her child, kept them 
company. William Jasper and his friend were touched by the 
spectacle of their distress, and they conferred together as soon as 
they were alone as to the possibility of rescuing them. Their 
plan was soon adopted. It was a simple one, such as naturally 
suggests itself to a hardy and magnanimous character. 

The prisoners had scarcely left the post for Savannah, under a 
guard of eight men, a sergeant and corporal, when they took leave 
of their host, and set forth also, though in a different direction 
from the guard. Changing their course when secure from ob- 
servation, they stretched across the country and followed the foot- 
steps of the unhappy captives. But it was only in the pursuit 
that they became truly conscious of the difficulty, nay, seeming 
impossibility, of effecting their object. The guard was armed, 
and ten in number; they but two, and weaponless. Hopeless, 
they nevertheless followed on. Two miles from Savannah there 
is a famous spring, the waters of which are well known to travel- 
lers. The conjecture that the guard might stop there with the 
prisoners for refreshment, suggested itself to our companions; 
here opportunities might occur for the rescue which had nowhere 
before presented themselves. 

Taking an obscure path with which they were familiar, which 
led them to the spot before the enemy could arrive, they placed 
themselves in. ambush in the immediate neighborhood of the 
spring. They had not long to wait. The conjecture proved cor- 
rect. The guard was halted on the road opposite the spring. 
The corporal with four men conducted the captives to the water, 
while the sergeant, with the remainder of his force, having made 
them ground their arms near the road, brought up the rear. The 
prisoners threw themselves upon the earth — the woman and her 
child near its father. Little did any of them dream that deliver- 
ance was at hand. The child fell asleep in the mother’s lap. 
Two of the armed men kept guard, but we may suppose with 
little caution. What had they to apprehend, within sight of a 
walled town in the possession of their friends ? Two others ap- 
])roached the spring, in order to bring water to the prisoners, 
liesting their muskets against a tree they proceeded to fill their 
canteens. At this moment Jasper gave the signal to his comrade. 
In an instant the muskets were in their hands. In another, they 
had shot down the two soldiers upon duty, then clubbing their 


284 


AN ACT OF MERCY REWARDED. 


weapons they rushed out upon the astonished enemy, and felling 
their first opponents each at a blow, they succeeded in obtaining 
possession of the loaded muskets. This decided the conflict, 
which was over in a few minutes. The surviving guard yielded 
themselves to mercy before the presented weapons. Such an 
achievement could only be successful from its audacity and the 
operation of circumstances. The very proximity of Savannah 
increased the chances of success. But for this the guard would 
have taken better precautions. None were taken. The prompt 
valor, the bold decision, the cool calculations of the instant, were 
the essential elements which secured success. The work of our 
heroes was not done imperfectly. The prisoners were quickly re- 
leased, the arms of the captured British put into their hands, 
and hurrying away from the spot which they have crowned with 
a local celebrity not soon to be forgotten, they crossed the Savan- 
nah in safety with their friends and foes. 


AN ACT OF MERCY REWARDED. 

At the time when the cause of the patriots looked so dark in 
the South, and when the few whigs who refused to receive the 
offered protection of the British commander, were beginning to 
gather in partizan bands, with the determination to resist the foe 
unto the last. Colonel Bratton assumed an important influence in 
furthering the plan of the whigs, and gathering them together to 
resist the enemy. The active energy he manifested in the cause 
made him particularly obnoxious to the British, who at last re- 
solved to crush him. Captain Huck, with a command of four 
hundred men, was dispatched with instructions to hunt him down. 

Col. Bratton resided near Brattonsville, South Carolina, and his 
grounds became the scene of a victory known in the history of 
the war as Huck’s defeat. To this spot Captain Huck proceeded, 
and entered the house of the enemy on the day which preceded 
the victory, roughly demanding of Mrs. Bratton where her hus- 
band was. She calmly replied that he was in Sumpter’s army. 
This reply enraged the British officer, but he controlled his anger, 
while he endeavored to persuade her to confess her knowledge of 
his retreat; and promising that if she would induce him to join 
the royalists, he should receive a commission in the army. 

The officer eloquently pictured the hopelessness of the rebel 
cause, and stated truly that the whigs themselves generally des- 
paired of success. But to these specious arguments and tempting 


AN ACT OF MERCY REWARDED. 


promises tlie heroic lady yielded nothing, and declared that she 
would rather see her husband perish at once in the cause he had 
assumed to defend, than to wear lofty honors in the armies of her 
country’s enemy. This reply broke down the officer’s command 
of his temper, and one of the soldiers, actuated by that spirit of 
deadly hatred and unrelenting cruelty that so pervaded the breasts 
of our country’s invaders, seized a reaping-hook near at hand, and 
bringing it in contact with her throat, would in an instant have 
ruthlessly murdered her, had not the officer second in command 
sprang forward and rescued her from his hands. 

The troops, after partaking of a supper in Mrs. Bratton’s resi- 
dence, proceeded to another house at a short distance, and en- 
camped for the night. Colonel Bratton having received informa- 
tion of their whereabouts meanwhile, was rapidly approaching 
their position, with the hope of surprising and defeating them. 
His own command numbered only fifty, while that of the enemy 
was four hundred. But they kept negligent watch, and the little 
band of patriots falling suddenly upon them in their sleep, a short 
and bloody conflict ensued, which resulted in the total defeat and 
rout of the enemy. Captain Huck was killed in the contest, and 
the command devolved upon the second officer, whose valor and 
exertions to retrieve the disaster, were in vain. The conflict had 
changed ground, so as to be directly around Mrs. Bratton’s house, 
and when it ceased Mrs. Bratton appeared upon the ground, ad- 
ministering relief to the wounded and dying. 

AmDng the prisoners was the officer by whose interposition the 
life of Mrs. Bratton had been saved. Actuated by a spirit of 
retaliation for the many enormities that had been inflicted by the 
British on their whig prisoners, the conquerors expressed a de- 
termination to condemn this officer to death. The more humane 
remonstrated, but the majority were blinded to justice by a thirst 
for vengeance. When the officer learned the doom to which he 
was condemned, he disdained to plead for his life, but requested 
to be conducted to the presence of Mrs. Bratton. He seemed to 
be one of finer spirit than most of the officers of the British army 
in the southern country. 

When brought before Mrs. Bratton, she instantly recognised 
him as the officer who had saved her life. Prompted by gratitude 
as well as mercy, she pleaded with his captors for his life. At 
first they turned a deaf ear to her intercession; but when with 
simple and touching eloquence she related the noble part he had 
taken in her deliverance, the stern purpose of the conquerors re- 
laxed, and he was spared. He resided with her in mutual friend- 
ship until he was exchanged. This romantic incident is well 
attested. 


286 


KENTON THE SPY. 


KENTON THE SPY. 

A SECRET expedition had been planned by Colonel Bowman of 
Kentucky against an Indian town on the Little Miami. Simon 
Kenton and two young men, named Clark and Montgomery, were 
employed to proceed in advance, and reconnoitre. Kenton was a 
native of Fauquier County, Virginia, where he was born the fif- 
teenth of May, 1755. His companions were roving backwoods- 
men, denizens of the wood, and hunters like himself. 

These adventurers set out in obedience to their orders, and 
reached the neighborhood of the Indian village without being dis- 
covered. They examined it attentively, and walked around the 
cabins during the night with perfect impunity. Had they 
returned after reconnoitering the place they would have accom- 
plished the object of their mission, and avoided a heavy calamity. 
They fell martyrs, however, to their passion for horse-flesh. 

Unfortunately, during their nightly promenade, they stumbled 
upon a pound, in which were a number of Indian horses. The 
temptation was not to be resisted. They severally seized a horse 
and mounted. But there still remained a number of fine animals ; 
and the adventurers cast longing, lingering looks behind. It was 
melancholy — the idea of forsaking such a goodly prize. Flesh 
and blood could not resist the temptation. Getting scalped was 
nothing to the loss of such beautiful specimens of horse-flesh. 
They turned back, and took several more. The horses, however, 
seemed indisposed to change masters, and so much noise was 
made in the attempt to secure them, that at last the thieves were 
discovered. 

The cry ran through the village at once, that the Long-Knives 
were stealing their horses right before the doors of their wig- 
wams. A great hubbub ensued ; and Indians, old and young, 
squaws, children, and warriors, all sallied out with loud screams 
to save their property from the greedy spoilers. Kenton and his 
friends saw that they had overshot their mark, and that they 
must ride for their lives. Even to this extremity, however, they 
could not reconcile their minds to the surrender of a single horse 
which they had haltered ; and while two of them rode in front 
and led a great number of horses, the other brought up the rear, 
and plying his whip from right to left, did not permit a single 
animal to lag behind. 

In this manner they dashed through the woods at a furious 
rate with the hue and cry after them, until their course was sud- 
denly stopped by an impenetrable swamp. Here, from necessity, 


KENTON THE SPY. 


287 


f 


they paused a few minutes, and listened attentively. Hearing no 
sounds of pursuit, they resumed their course, and skirting the 
swamp for some distance in the vain hope of crossing it, they bent 
their course in a straight direction to the Ohio. They rode 
during the whole night without resting a moment. Halting a 
brief space at daylight, they continued their journey throughout 
the day, and the whole of the following night ; and, by this un- 
common celerity of movement, they succeeded in reaching the 
northern bank of the Ohio on the morning of the second day. 

Crossing the river would now ensure their safety, but this was 
likely to prove a difficult undertaking, and the close pursuit, 

I which they had reason to expect, rendered it expedient to lose as 
little time as possible. The wind was high, and the river rough 
and boisterous. It was determined that Kenton should cross with 
, the horses, while Clark and Montgomery should construct a raft, 

I in order to transport their guns, baggage, and ammunition, to the 
[ opposite shore. The necessary preparations were soon made, and 
Kenton, after forcing his horses into the river, plunged in him- 
self, and swam by their side. 

In a few minutes the high waves completely overwhelmed him 
i and forced him considerably below the horses, who stemmed the 
I current much more successfully than he. 

The horses being left to themselves, turned about and made for 
\ the Ohio shore, where Kenton was compelled to follow them. 

Again he forced them into the water, and again they returned to 
I the same spot, until Kenton became so exhausted by repeated 
: efforts, as to be unable to swim. What was to be done ? 
j That the Indians would pursue them was certain. That the 
? horses would not and could not be made to cross the river in its 
j present state was equally certain. Should they abandon their 
( horses and cross on the raft, or remain with their horses, and 
i brave the consequence? The latter alternative was adopted 
j unanimously. Death or captivity might be tolerated, but the loss 
! of such a beautiful lot of horses, after working so hard for them, 

; was not to be thought of for a moment. 

Should they move up or down the river, or remain where they 
were ? The latter plan was adopted and a more indiscreet one 
could hardly have been imagined. They supposed that the wind 
would fall at sunset, and the river become sufficiently calm to 
admit of their passage ; and, as it was thought probable, that the 
Indians might be upon them before night, it was determined to 
conceal their horses in a neighboring ravine, while they should 
take their stations in the adjoining wood. 

The day passed away in ti'anquility • but at night the wind 


288 


KENTON THE SPY. 


blew harder than ever, and the water became so rough, that they 
would hardly have been able to cross in their raft. As if totally 
infatuated, they remained where they were until morning ; thus 
wasting twenty-four hours of most precious time in idleness. In 
the morning, the wind abated, and the river became calm j but, 
it was now too late. Their horses had become obstinate and 
intractable, and positively and repeatedly refused to take to the 
water. 

Their masters at length determined to do what ought to have 
been done at first. They severally resolved to mount a horse, and 
make the best of their way down the river to Louisville. But 
their unconquerable reluctance to lose their horses overcame even 
this resolution. Instead of leaving the ground instantly, they went 
back upon their own trail, in the vain effort to regain possession 
of the rest of the horses, which had broken from them in their 
last effort to drive them into the water. They literally fell victims 
to their love for horse-flesh. 

They had scarcely ridden one hundred yards when Kenton, 
who had dismounted, heard a loud halloo. He quickly beheld 
three Indians and one white man, all well mounted. Wishing to 
give the alarm to his companions, he raised his rifle, took a steady 
aim at the breast of the foremost Indian, and drew the trigger. 
His gun had become wet on the raft, and flashed. 

The enemy were instantly alarmed, and dashed at him. Ken- 
ton took to his heels, and was pursued by four horsemen at full 
speed. He instantly directed his steps to the thickest of the 
wood, and had succeeded, as he thought, in baffling his pursuers, 
when, just as he was entering the wood, an Indian on horseback 
galloped up to him with such rapidity as to render flight useless. 
The horseman rode up, holding out his hand, and calling out 

Brother ! brother in a tone of great affection. Kenton ob- 
serves that if his gun would have made fire, he would have bro- 
thered him to his hearths content, but, being totally unarmed, 
he called out that he would surrender if they would give him 
quarter and good treatment. 

Promises were cheap with the Indian, who, advancing with 
extended hands and a withering grin upon his countenance, which 
was intended for a smile of courtesy, seized Kenton^s hand, and 
grasped it with violence. Kenton, not liking the manner of his 
captor, raised his gun to knock him down, when an Indian, who 
had followed him closely through the brushwood, sprung upon his 
back, and pinioned his arms to his side. The one, who had been 
grinning so amiably, then raised him by the hair and shook him 
until his teeth rattled, while the rest of the party coming up, fell 


TUSSLE WITH A WILDCAT. 


289 


upon Kenton with their tongues and ramrods, until he thought 
they would scold or beat him to death. They were the owners 
of the horses which he had carried off, and now took ample 
revenge for the loss of their property. At every stroke of their 
ramrods over his head, they would exclaim in a tone of strong 
indignation, Steal Indian boss ! hey 


TUSSLE WITH A WILDCAT. 

In 1781, Lexington was only a cluster of cabins, one of which, 
near the spot where the court-house now stands, was used as a 
school-house. One morning in May, McKinley, the teacher, was 
sitting alone at his desk, busily engaged in writing, when, hear- 
ing a slight noise at the door, he turned and beheld an enormous 
wildcat, with her forefeet upon the step, her tail curled over her 
back, her bristles erect, and her eyes glaring rapidly about the 
room, as if in search of a mouse. 

McKinley^s position at first completely concealed him, but a 
slight and involuntary motion of his chair attracted puss^ atten- 
tion, and their eyes met. McKinley having heard much of the 
powers of the human face divine,^^ in quelling the audacity of 
wild animals, attempted to disconcert the intruder by a frown. , 
But puss was not to be bullied. Her eyes flashed fire, her tail 
waved angrily, and she began to gnash her teeth cantankerously.^^ 
She was evidently bent on mischief. Seeing his danger, McKinley 
hastily rose, and attempted to snatch a cylindrical rule from a 
table which stood within reach, but the cat was too quick for him. 

Darting furiously upon him, she fastened upon his side with 
her teeth, and began to rend and tear with her claws. McKin- 
ley’s clothes were soon in tatters, and his flesh dreadfully man- 
gled by the enraged animal, whose strength and ferocity filled him 
with astonishment. He in vain attempted to disengage her from 
his side. Her long sharp teeth were fastened between his ribs, 
and his efforts served but to enrage her the more. Seeing his 
blood flow very copiously from the numerous wounds in his side, 
he became seriously alarmed, and not knowing what else to do, 
he threw himself upon the edge of the table and pressed her 
against the sharp corner wfith the whole weight of his body. 

The cat now began to utter the most wild and discordant cries, 
and McKinley, at the same time, lifting up his voice in concert, 
the two together sent forth notes so doleful as to alarm the whole 
town. Women, who are generally the first .to hear and spread 
25 


290 


A FAMILY ATTACKED. 


news, were now the first to come to McKinley’s assistance. But 
so strange and unearthly was the harmony within the school- 
house, that they hesitated long before venturing to enter. At 
length the boldest of them rushed in, and seeing poor McKinley 
bending over the corner of the table, she at first supposed that he 
was laboring under a severe fit of the colic ; but quickly perceiv- 
ing the cat, which was now in the agonies of death, she screamed 
out, ^^Why, good heavens, Mr. McKinley, what is the matter?” 
have caught a cat, madam!” replied he, gravely turning 
round, while the sweat streamed from his face under the mingled 
operations of fright, fatigue, and pain. 

Most of the neighbors had now arrived. They attempted to 
disengage the dead cat ; but so firmly were her tusks locked be- 
tween his ribs, that this was a work of no small difficulty. 
McKinley suffered severely for a time from the effects of his 
wounds, but at length fully recovered, and lived to a good old age. 
lie was heard to say, that of all the pupils that ever came to his 
school, the wildcat was the most intractable ; that he would at any 
time rather fight two Indians than one wildcat. 


A FAMILY ATTACKED. 

On the night of the eleventh of April, 1787, the house of a 
widow in Bourbon County, Kentucky, became the scene of a 
deplorable adventure. The name of the widow was Scraggs. 
She occupied what was called a double cabin, in a lonely part of 
the county. One room was tenanted by the old lady herself 
together with two grown sons, and a widowed daughter with an 
infant. The other room was occupied by two unmarried daughters 
from sixteen to twenty years of age, together with a little girl. 

The hour was eleven o’clock at night. One of the unmarried 
daughters was still busily engaged at the loom, but the other 
members of the family, with the exception of one of the sons, 
had retired to rest. Some symptoms of an alarming nature had 
engaged the attention of the young man for an hour before any- 
thing of a decided character took place. 

The cry of owls was heard in the adjoining wood, answering 
each other in rather an unusual manner. The horses, which 
were enclosed as usual in a pound near the house, were more than 
commonly excited, and by repeated snorting and galloping, an- 
nounced the presence of some object of terror. The young man 


A FAMILY ATTACKED. 


291 


was often upon the point of awakening his brother, but was as 
often restrained by the fear of incurring ridicule, and the re- 
proach of timidity, at that time an unpardonable blemish in the 
character of a Kentuckian. At length hasty steps were heard 
in the yard, and quickly afterward several loud knocks at the 
door, accompanied by the usual exclamation, Who keeps house 
in very good English. 

The young man, supposing from the language that some be- 
nighted travellers were at the door, hastily arose, and was ad- 
vancing to withdraw the bar that secured it, when his mother, 
who had long lived upon the frontier, and had probably detected 
the Indian tone in the demand for admission, instantly sprang 
out of bed, and ordered her son not to admit them, declaring that 
they were Indians. 

She instantly awakened her other son, and the two young men 
seizing their guns, which were always charged, prepared to repel 
the enemy. The Indians, finding it impossible to enter under 
their assumed characters, began to thunder at the door with great 
violence ; but a single shot from a loop-hole, compelled them to 
shift the attack to some less exposed point ; and, unfortunately, 
they discovered the door of the other cabin, which contained the 
three daughters. The rifles of the brothers could not be brought 
to bear on this point, and, by means of several rails taken from 
the yard fence, the door was forced from the hinges, and the 
three girls were at the mercy of the savages. One was instantly 
secured, but the eldest defended herself desperately with a knife, 
which she had been using at the loom, and stabbed one of the 
Indians to the heart, before she was tomahawked. 

In the meantime, the little girl, who had been overlooked by 
the enemy in their eagerness to secure the others, ran out into 
the yard, and might have effected her escape, had she taken ad- 
vantage of the darkness and fled ; but instead of looking to her 
own safety, the terrified little creature ran round the house, 
wringing her hands and crying that her sisters were killed. The 
brothers, unable to hear her cries, without risking everything for 
her rescue, rushed to the door, and were preparing to sally out 
to her assistance, when their mother threw herself before them, 
and calmly declared that the child must be abandoned to its fate; 
that the sally would sacrifice the lives of all the rest, without 
being of the slightest benefit to the little girl. 

Just then the child uttered a loud scream, followed by a few 
faint moans, and all was silent. Presently the crackling of flames 
was heard, accompanied by a triumphant yell from the Indians, 
announcing that they had set fire to that division of the house, 


292 


A FAMILY ATTACKED. 


wliich had been occupied by the daughters, and of which they 
held undisputed possession. 

The fire was quickly communicated to the rest of the building, 
and it became necessary to abandon it or perish in the flames. 
The rapid approach of the fire cut short their momentary sus- 
pense. The door was thrown open, and the old lady, supported 
by her eldest son, attempted to cross the fence at one point, while 
her daughter, carrying her child in her arms, attended by the 
younger of the brothers, ran in a different direction. The blaz- 
ing roof shed a light over the yard but little inferior to that of 
day, and the savages were distinctly seen awaiting the approach 
of their victims. The old lady was permitted to reach the stile 
unmolested, but in the act of crossing, received several balls in 
her breast, and fell dead. Her son, providentially, remained un- 
hurt, and, by extraordinary agility, effected his escape. 

The other party succeeded also in reaching the fence unhurt, 
but in the act of crossing were vigorously assailed by several 
Indians, who, throwing down their guns, rushed upon them with 
their tomahawks. The young man defended his sister gallantly, 
firing upon the enemy as they approached, and then wielding the 
butt of his rifle with a fury that drew their whole attention upon 
himself, and gave his sister an opportunity of effecting her 
escape. He quickly fell, however, under the tomahawks of his 
enemies, and was found at daylight scalped and mangled in a 
shocking manner. Of the whole family, consisting of eight per- 
sons, only three escaped. Four were killed upon the spot, and 
one, the second daughter, carried off as a prisoner. 

The neighborhood was quickly alarmed, and, by daylight, about 
thirty men were assembled under the command of Colonel Ed- 
wards. A light snow had fallen during the latter part of the 
night, and the Indian trail could be pursued at a gallop. It led 
directly into the mountainous country bordering upon Licking, 
and afforded evidences of great hurry and precipitation on the 
part of the fugitives. Unfortunately, a hound had been permitted 
to follow the whites, and as the trail became fresh, and the scent 
warm, she followed it with eagerness, baying loudly and giving 
the alarm to the Indians. The consequences of this imprudence 
were soon manifest. The enemy finding the pursuit keen, and 
perceiving that the strength of their prisoner began to fail, in- 
stantly sunk their tomahawks in her head, and left her, still warm 
and bleeding, upon the snow. 

As the whites came up, she retained strength enough to wavt 
her hand in token of recognition, and appeared desirous of giving 
them some information, with regard to the enemy, but her strength 


I 


ADVENTURES OF GENERAL CLINTON. , 293 

was too far gone. Her brother sprang from his horse and knelt 
by her side, endeavoring to stop the effusion of blood, but in vain. 
’ She gave him her hand, muttered some inarticulate words, and 
expired within two minutes of the arrival of the party. 


ADVENTUEES OF GENERAL CLINTON. 

Major General James Clinton commanded at Fort Clinton 
on the occasion of its assault by Sir Henry Clinton. Here he 
was joined by his brother George Clinton. The attack of Sir 
Henry was resisted with a devoted heroism,, but fighting against 
superior numbers, and attacked by English ships of war in the 
stream, they were gradually overcome. But the battle was des- 
perately contested, and when at last all hope was gone, Clinton, 
disdaining to surrender, gathered a body of men around him, and 
with his brother at his side, attempted to force his way through 
the enemy’s ranks. 

Fleeing to the river shore he came upon a small boat, in which 
he urged his brother George to embark, and make his escape. 
The latter firmly refused to go, unless he accompanied him. But 
this was impossible; and to end the dispute, James pushed his 
brother into the boat, and shoved it from the shore, before he 
had any time to offer resistance, then springing on a horse near 
by, galloped away. It was dark ; and as he came to a bridge, 
which he must cross, he saw it occupied with English soldiers. 
They challenged him ; but ordering them to clear the way, he 
drove the spurs in his horse, and dashed through the bayonets, 
one of which pierced his leg. 

Knowing that his safety lay in reaching the mountains, he 
flung himself from his horse, and snatching the bridle from his 
head, plunged into the woods. His remarkable presence of mind 
did not forsake him in this critical moment. He knew that un- 
less he could catch another horse, he must perish amid the moun- 
tains with his wound, before he could reach any settlement ; and 
remembering that there were many half- wild horses roving about 
the shores, he suddenly bethought himself that he might possibly 
take one of these next morning and escape. So, preserving 
the bridle he had taken, he limped away; and sliding down a 
precipice a hundred feet high into a ravine, was out of the reach 
of his pursuers. ^ 

Creeping along the steep and rocky sides, with the blood oozing 
rapidly from his wound, he slipped and fell into the stream. The 
25 * 


294 • ADVENTURES OF LIEUTENANT DALE. 

cold plunge helped him, for it stayed the effusion of blood ; and 
drenched and faint, he made his way to the mountains, where he 
remained all night, racked with pain, covered with blood, and 
burned with fever. When daylight dawned he began to look 
about him, and finally came upon a horse, which he caught. 
Placing the bridle, which he still retained, upon him, he mounted 
bare-back and rode sixteen miles — every step driving a dagger 
into the wounded leg ; before he came to a house. He presented 
a frightful spectacle to the astonished inmates — his regimentals 
were covered with blood, his cheeks flushed with fever, and his 
voice hollow and husky. 

After his recovery Clinton joined Sullivan’s expedition against 
the Indians, in which he won new laurels. On his return he 
was stationed at Almany, where he remained until near the close 
of the war. 


ADVENTURES OF LIEUTENANT DALE. 

Lieutenant Richard Dale, afterwards Commodore, served 
in our youthful navy during the Revolutionary contest. Four 
several times he was taken prisoner. On one occasion, being cap- 
tured by a frigate, the prisoners were placed on board the prize, 
under a small crew, but during the night becoming separated 
from the English vessel, the captors rose upon their conquerors, 
retook the brig, and carried her into Baltimore. He put out to 
sea in the same vessel, but encountering an English man-of-war, 
he was again captured, and this time carried into Plymouth. 
The prisoners were examined and thrown into Mill prison on a 
charge of treason. 

Here they were doomed to a rigorous and painful confinement. 

So severe,” says Cooper, were the privations of the Americans 
on this occasion, that, in pure hunger, they caught a jJtray dog 
one day, skinned, cooked and ate him, to satisfy their cravings for 
food.” But their situation eventually attracted the attention of 
the humane, and their sufferings were relieved. But time passing 
on, and despairing of ever being freed by exchange, they resolved 
to attempt an escape. We quote from his life by Cooper. 

A suitable place was selected, and a hole under a wall was 
commenced. The work required secresy and time. The earth 
was removed, little by little in the pockets of the captives, care 
being had to conceal the place, until a hole of sufl&cient size was 
made to permit the body of a man to pass through. It was a 
tedious process, for the only opportunity which occurred to empty 


p 


ADVENTURES OF LIEUTENANT DALE. 295 

their pockets, was while the Americans were exercising in the 
halls of their prison for a short period each day. By patience 
and perseverance they accomplished their purpose, however, every 
hour dreading exposure and defeat. 

When all was ready, they passed through the hole and 
escaped. This was in February, 1778. The party wandered 
about the country in company, and by night, for more than a 
week, suffered all sorts of privations, until it was resolved to take 
the wiser course of separating. Dale, accompanied by one other, 
found his way to London, hotly pursued. At one time, the two 
lay under some straw in an out-house, while the premises were 
searched by those who were in quest of them. On reaching 
London, Dale and his companion immediately got on board a 
vessel about to sail for Dunkirk. A press-gang unluckily took 
this craft in its rounds, and suspecting the true object of the 
fugitives, they were arrested, and their characters being ascer- 
tained, they were sent back to Mill Prison in disgrace. 

This was the commencement of a captivity far more tedious 
than the former. In the first place, they were condemned to forty 
days imprisonment in the black hole, as a punishment for the 
late escape ; and released from this durance, they were deprived 
of many of their former indulgences. Dale himself took his 
revenge in singing rebel songs,^' and paid a second visit to the 
black hole as the penalty. This state of things, with alternations 
of favor and punishment, continued quite a year, when Dale, 
singly succeeded in again effecting his great object of getting free. 

“ The mode in which this second escape was made is known, 
but the manner by which he procured the means, he refused to 
his dying day to disclose. At all events, he obtained a full suit 
of British uniform, attired in which, and seizing a favorable 
opportunity, he boldly walked past all the sentinels, and got off. 
That some one was connected with this escape, who might suffer 
by his revelations is almost certain ; and it is a trait in his cha- 
racter worthy of notice, that he kept this secret, with scrupulous 
fidelity, for forty-seven years. It is not known that he ever 
divulged it even to any individual in his own family. 

liendered wary by experience, Dale now proceeded with 
great address and caution. lie probably had money as well as 
clothes. At all events, he went to London, found means to pro- 
cure a passport, and left the country for France unsuspected and 
undetected. On reaching a friendly soil, he hastened to L’Orient, 
and joined the force then equipping under Paul Jones. This 
commander obtained a commission for Dale, and made him the 
first lieutenant of his own ship.'^ 


296 


MISS MONCRIEFFE. 


When Dale effected this last escape, he was but twenty-three 
years of age, having been made four times a prisoner, and effecting 
his escape three different times, each under very different circum- 
stances. So much variety of adventure at so early an age, gives i 
a peculiar charm to his history. 

I 

i 


MISS MONCRIEFFE. 

During the early part of the war, a gentleman named Wood j 
was residing about seven miles from Peekskill. He was a zealous j 
whig, but the associations and tastes of his English wife, caused - 
her prejudices to decide in favor of the loyalists. Among the j 
inmates of the family, was Miss Moncrieffe, a visitor from New I 
York, and daughter of Major Moncrieffe of the English army. 
This lady was young, of surpassing beauty, fascinating manners, 
and possessed of rare accomplishments, with intellectual gifts of j 
a high order. Her beauty, the care and richness lavished upon ' 
her dress, combined with her pleasing attainments, dazzled all j 
those who came within the range of her influence, and Mr. Wood’s 
house soon became the resort of all those who could obtain the ! 
acquaintance of this beautiful and spirited girl. Among the I 
visitors who thronged around the brilliant lady, were several ; 
officers of the American army. It was not in the power of these 
to resist the enslaving charms of their beautiful countrywoman, i 
and they were delighted to find that her sentiments sympathized 
with the patriotic cause, and listened with unqualified pleasure to 
the words of patriotism from lips so fair, and to the approbation 
of one to whom it was not in their power to resist doing homage. 
She encouraged conversation upon the state of the country and 
its prospects, and so unrestrained became their connection, that 
confidential disclosures were made to her from time to time, and 
by insinuating questions, she would often learn of all the plans 
and movements in contemplation, to circumvent the enemy. 

Miss Moncrieffe was an excellent equestrian. She rode out 
every day, sometimes accompanied, but oftener alone. She could 
ride any horse, however spirited, and usually went abroad in a 
magnificent costume, that from its exceeding beauty, and singular 
style, received much comment. One morning, as she was taking 
her accustomed ride, alone, on passing a farm-house, the barking 
of a dog, that suddenly sprang into the road, frightened the horse. 
The animal started aside ; she was thrown to the ground, and so 
severely stunned, as to be entirely insensible. The people ran i 


MISS MONCRIEFFE. 297 

{ out from the house, lifted her up, and carried her in and laid her 
on the bed. 

While endeavoring to restore her, they unbuttoned the vest of 
her riding-habit, to allow her to breathe more freely, when a letter 
fell out, which was picked up and laid on the table. It was not 
long before she began to recover consciousness, and in a few 
imoments was fully restored to her senses. Suddenly observing 
Uhe open flaps of her vest, she started up in great agitation, 
•lexclaiming, ^^Who unbuttoned my waist-coat? Where is the 
letter? ah, I am lost — lost!^^ A woman at her side took up the 
letter, and was about to hand it to her, when a man standing by, 
whose suspicions were aroused by the strangeness of her manner, 
sprang forward and seized it. With the greatest alarm and 
anxiety, she begged him to restore it, but as he observed it was 
addressed to New York, and more and more suspicious from the 
over anxiety of her manner, he positively refused to deliver it up, 

I until its contents should be known. Finding her eflbrts to obtain 
the letter in vain, and having received no injury from her fall, 
ishe was obliged to mount her horse and depart without it. 

There was now but one course for her to pursue. An exposure 
of the contents of the letter would prove her ruin. She imme- 
:diately began to prepare for returning to New York; but before 
she could get ready to depart, a party of soldiers rode up and 
! entered the house, and the oflicer informed her that she must be 
I considered as a prisoner, and be conducted to the destination 
i pointed out by his orders. 

[i It was ascertained, that the letter thus opportunely discovered, 
I contained information relating to an intended movement of the 
I American army. It was proved in the examination, that the 
I young lady was in the habit, repeatedly, of sending her British 
I friends the information reposed in her by the young American 
I officers, who, supposing her to be actuated by a strong interest in 
I the cause they espoused, had confided to her the secrets of the 
! army. When she wrote a letter, she concealed it in the vest of 
! her riding-habit, and riding by an appointed spot, contrived to 
I drop it upon the ground unseen, when it was immediately picked 
up by an accomplice hid in the bushes, and then conveyed from 
hand to hand until it reached New York. All this came to light 
by the confession of the accomplice himself. 

M iss Moncrieffe was retained as a prisoner. Her countrymen, 
not disposed to deal harshly with one so young, beautiful and ac- 
complished, her trial was postponed from time to time, until at 
last she was given up to her friends. 


298 


/ 


THE TWINS. 


THE TWINS. 

In the autumn of 1826 I had occasion to visit the town of 

N , beautifully situated on the west bank of the Connecticut 

river. My business led me to the house of B , a lawyer of 

three-score-and-ten, who was now resting from the labors, and en- 
joying the fruits of a life strenuously and successfully devoted to 
his profession. His drawing-room was richly furnished, and de- 
corated with several valuable paintings. 

There was one among them that particularly attracted my atten- 
tion. It represented a mother with two children, one in either 
arm, a light veil thrown over the group, and one of the children 
pressing its lips to the cheek of its mother. ^‘That,^^ said I, 
pointing to the picture, ^^is very beautiful. Pray, sir, what is 
the subject of it 

^^It is a mother and her twins,^^ said he; ^Hhe picture in itself 
is esteemed a fine one, but I value it more for the recollections 

which are associated with it.^^ I turned my eye upon B ; 

he looked communicative, and I asked him for the story. Sit 

down,^^ he said, ^^and I will tell it.^^ We accordingly sat down, 
and he gave me the following narrative : 

Burins: the war of the Revolution there resided in the western 
part of Massachusetts a farmer by the name of Stedman. He 
was a man of substance, descended from a very respectable Eng- 
lish family, well edueated, distinguished for great firmness of 
character in general, and alike remarkable for inflexible integrity 
and steadfast loyalty to the king. 

‘^Such was the reputation he sustained, that even when the 
most violent antipathies against royalists swayed the community, 
it was still admitted on all hands that farmer Stedman, though a 
tory, was honest in his opinions, and firmly believed them to be right. 

“The period came when Burgoyne was advancing from the 
north. It was a time of great anxiety with both the friends and 
foes of the Revolution, and one which called forth their highest 
exertions. The patriotic militia flocked to the standard of Hates 
and Stark, while many of the tories resorted to the quarters of 
Burgoyne and Baum. Among the latter was Stedman. 

“ He had no sooner decided it to be his duty, than he took a 
kind farewell of his wife, a woman of uncommon beauty; gave 
his children, a twin boy and girl, a long embrace, then mounted 
his horse and departed. He joined himself to the unfortunate 
expedition of Baum, and was taken, with other prisoners of war, 
by the victorious Stark. 


THE TWINS. 


299 


5 

i 

1 

» He made no attempt to conceal his name or character, which 
were both soon discovered, and he was accordingly committed to 
iprison as a traitor. The jail in which he was confined was in the 
{[western part of Massachusetts, and nearly in a ruinous condition. 
jiThe farmer was one night waked from his sleep by several per- 
; sons in his room. ^Come,' said they, ^you can now regain your 
jliberty; we have made a breach in the prison through which you 
• can escape.^ 

^^To their astonishment, he utterly refused to leave his prison. 
Tn vain they expostulated with liim ; in vain they represented to 
him that his life was at stake. His reply was, that he was a true 
man, and a servant of King George, and he would not creep out 
of a hole at night, and sneak away from the rebels, to save his 
ineck from the gallows. Finding it fruitless to attempt to move 
jhim, his friends left him with some expressions of spleen. 

“The time at length arrived for the trial of the prisoner. The 
distance to the place where the court was sitting was about sixty 
miles. Stedman remarked to the sheriff that it would save some 
expense if he could be permitted to go alone, and on foot. ^And 
suppose,^ said the sheriff, Ghat you should prefer your safety to 
your honor, and leave me to seek you in the British camp 

had thought,^ said the farmer, reddening with indignation, 

‘ that I was speaking to one who knew me.' ‘ I do know you, in- 
deed,' said the sheriff; spoke but in jest; you shall have your 
own way. Go ! and on the third day I shall expect to see you at 

iS .' The farmer departed, and at the appointed time he 

placed himself in the hands of the sheriff. 

“I was now engaged as his counsel. Stedman insisted before 
the court in telling his whole story, and when I would have taken 
advantiige of some technical points, he sharply rebuked me, and 
told me that he had not employed me to prevaricate, but only to 
assist him in telling the truth. I had never seen such a display 
of simple integrity. ^ 

“It was affecting to witness his love of holy, unvarnished truth, 
elevating him above every other consideration, and presiding in 
his breast as a sentiment even superior to the love of life. I saw 
the tears more than once springing to the eyes of his judges; 
never before or since have I felt such interest in a client, — I 
1 pleaded for him as I would have pleaded for my own life, — 1 
1 drew tears, but I could not sway the judgment of stern men, con- 
1 trolled rather by a sense of duty than by the compassionate 
i promptings of humanity. 

, “ Stedman was condemned. I told him there was a chance of 

pardon, if he asked for it. I drew up a petition and requested 


300 


THE TWINS. 


him to sign it, but he refused. have done,^ said he, ‘what 1. 
thought my duty. 1 can ask pardon of my (xod, and my king; 
but it would be hypocrisy to ask forgiveness of these men for an 
action which I should repeat, were 1 placed again in similar cir- 
cumstances. 

“‘No! ask me not to sign that petition. If what you call the 
cause of American freedom requires the blood of an honest man 
for a conscientious discharge of what he deemed his duty, let me 
be its victim. Go to my judges and tell them that I place not 
my fears nor my hopes in them.' It was in vain that I pressed 
the subject, and I went away in despair. 

“In returning to my house I accidentiilly called on an acquaint- 
ance, a young man of brilliant genius, the subject of a passionate 
predilection for painting. This led him frequently to take excur- 
sions into the country for the purpose of sketching such objects 
and scenes as were interesting to him. From one of these ram- 
bles he had just returned. I found him sitting at his easel, giving 
the last touches to the picture which has just attracted your 
attention. 

“ lie asked my opinion of it. ‘It is a fine picture,^ said I; ‘is 
it a fancy piece, or are they portraits V ‘They are portraits,' said 
he, ‘and, save perhaps a little embellishment, they are, I think, 
striking portraits of the wife and children of your unfortunate 
client, Stedman. In the course of my rambles I chanced to call 

at his house in II . I never saw a more beautiful group. 

The mother is one of a thousand, and the twins are a pair of 
cherubs.' 

“‘Tell me,' said I, laying my hand on the picture, ‘tell me, 
are they true and faithful portniits of the wife and children of 
Stedman ?' My earnestness made my friend stare. He assured 
me that, so far as he could be permitted to judge of his own pro- 
ductions, they were striking representations. I asked no further 
questions; I seized the picture, and hurried with it to the prison 
where my client was confined. 

“I found him sitting, his face covered with his hands, and ap- 
parently wrung by keen emotion. I placed the picture in such a 
situation that he could not fail to see it. I laid the petition on 
the little table by his side, and left the room. 

“In half an hour I returned. The farmer grasped my hand, 
while tears stole down his cheeks : his eye glanced first upon the 
picture, and then to the petition. He said nothing, but handed 
the latter to me. I took it and left the apartment. His name 
was fairly written at the bottom ! The petition was granted, and 
Stodman was set at liberty." 


BOSTON TEA PARTY. 


801 


BOSTON TEA PAETY. 

The morning of Thursday, the 16th day of December, 1773, 
dawned upon Boston — a day by far the most momentous in its 
annals. Beware, little town; count the cost, and know well if 
you dare defy the wrath of Great Britain, and if you love exile, 
and poverty, and death, rather than submission. At ten o^ clock 
the people of Boston, with at least two thousand men from the 
country, assembled in the Old South. A report was made that 
Eotch had been refused a clearance from the collector. ^^Then,'^ 
said' they to him, protest immediately against the custom-house, 
and apply to the governor for his pass, so that your vessel may 
this very day proceed on her voyage to London.^' 

The governor had stolen away to his country-house at Milton. 
Bidding Eotch make all haste, the meeting adjourned to three in 
the afternoon. At that hour Eotch had not returned. It was 
incidentally voted, as other towns had done, to abstain wholly 
from the use of tea ; and every town was advised to appoint its 
committee of inspection, to prevent the detested tea from coming 
within any of them. Then, since the governor might refuse his 
pass, the momentous question recurred, whether it be the sense 
and determination of this body to abide by their former resolutions 
with respect to not suffering the tea to be landed. On this ques- 
tion Samuel Adams and Young* addressed the meeting, which 
was become far the most numerous ever held in Boston, embracing 
seven thousand men. There was among them a patriot of fervent 
feeling — passionately devoted to the liberty of his country — still 
young, his eye bright, his cheek glowing with hectic fever. He 
knew that his strength was ebbing. The work of vindicating 
American freedom must be done soon, or he will be no party to 
the great achievement. He rises, but it is to restrain ; and being 
truly brave and truly resolved, he speaks the language of mode- 
ration. Shouts and hosannas will not terminate the trials of 
this day, nor popular resolves, harangues, and acclamations van- 
quish our foes. We must be grossly ignorant of the value of the 
prize for which we contend, of the power combined against us, 
of the inveterate malice and insatiable revenge which actuate our 
enemies, public and private, abroad and in our bosom, if we hope 
we shall end this contraversy without the sharpest conflicts. Let 
us consider the issue before we advance to those measures which 
must bring on the most trying and terrible struggle this country 

* Dr. Thomas Young, a physician, and afterwards an army surgeon, 
was a zealous patriot, and a leading speaker and writer of the time. 

26 


302 


GENERAL WARREN. 


ever saw/’ Thus spoke the younger Quincy. ^^Now that the 
liand is to the plough/’ said others, there must be no looking 
back/’ and the whole assembly of seven thousand voted unani 
mously that the tea should not be landed. 

It had been dark for more than an hour. The church in whicl 
they met was dimly lighted, when, at a quarter before six llotch 
appeared, and satisfied the people by relating that the governoi 
had refused him a pass, because his ship was not properly cleared. 
As soon as he had finished his report, Samuel Adams rose and 
gave the word — This meeting can do nothing more to save the 
country.” On the instant a shout was heard at the porch } the 
war-whoop resounded ; a body of men, forty or fifty in number, 
disguised as Indians, passed by the door, and, encouraged by 
Samuel Adams, Hancock, and others, repaired to G-riffin’s Wharf, 
posted guards to prevent the intrusion of spies, took possession 
of the three tea ships, and in about three hours three hundred 
and forty chests of tea, being the whole quantity that had been 
imported, were emptied into the bay, without the least injury to 
other property. ^^All things were conducted with great order, 
decency, and perfect submission to government.” The people 
around, as they looked on, were so still that the noise of breaking 
open the tea-chests was distinctly heard. A delay of a few hours 
would have placed the tea under the protection of the admiral at 
the castle. After the work was done the town became as still 
and calm as if it had been holy . time. The men from the country 
that very night carried back the great news to their villages. 


CAPTURE OF VINCENNES. 

Two companies of men were raised from Cahokia, and Kas- 
kaskia, commanded by Captains McCarty and Charleville, which, 
with the Americans, amounted to one hundred and seventy 
■ men. 

The winter was unusually wet, and the streams all high, but 
on the /th of February, 1779, this fragment of an army com- 
menced its march from Kaskaskia to Post Vincent. Their route 
lay through the prairies and points of timber east of the Kas- 
kaskia river, a north-easterly course through Washington and 


CAPTURE OP VINCENNES. 


303 


Marion counties, into Clay county, where the trail, visible thirty 
years since, would strike the route of the present road from St. 
Louis to Vincennes. 

This was one of the most dreary and fatiguing expeditions 
of the Revolutionary War. After incredible hardships, they 
reached the Little Wabash, the low bottoms of which, for seve- 
ral miles, were covered with water, as Col. Clarkes report affirms, 
generally three feet deep, never under two, and frequently 
over four feet.^^ They arrived at the two Wabashes,^^ as Bow- 
man, in his journal, calls the two branches, (now known as the 
Little Wabash^^ and Muddy’^ rivers,) on the 13th. Here 
they made a canoe, and on the 15th ferried over their baggage, 
which they placed on a scaffold on the opposite bank. Bains 
fell nearly every day, but the weather was not cold. Hitherto 
they had borne their extreme privations and difficulties with in- 
credible patience, but now the spirits of many seemed exhausted. 
There was an Irish drummer in the party, who possessed an un- 
common talent in singing comic Irish songs. 

While the men were wading to the waist, and sometimes to 
the armpits, in mud and water, the fertile ingenuity of Colonel 
Clark, who never failed in resources, placed the Irishman on his 
drum, which readily floated, while he entertained the exhausted 
troops with his comic and musical powers. 

On the 18th day of February, eleven days after their depar- 
ture from Kaskaskia, they heard the morning gun of the fort, 
and at the evening of the same day, they were on the Great 
Wabash, below the mouth of the Embarrass. The party were 
now in the most exhausted, destitute, and starving condition, 
and no signs of their boat with supplies. The river was out of 
its banks, all the low grounds covered with water, and canoes 
could not be constructed to carry them over before the British 
garrison would discover, and capture and massacre the whole 
party. February 20th, they hailed, and brought to, a boat from 
Post Vincent, and from the crew, whom they detained, they 
learned that the French population were friendly to the Ameri- 
cans, and that no suspicion of the expedition had reached the 
British garrison. 

Here we shall let Colonel Clark tell the story in his jour- 
nal : — 

This last dayks march, (February 21st,) through the water, 
was far superior to any thing the Frenchmen had any idea of; 
they were backward in speaking — said that the nearest land 
to us was a small league, called the sugar camp, on the bank 


804 


CAPTURE OF VINCENNES. 


1 


of tlie slough. A canoe was sent off, and returned without 
finding that we could pass. I went in her myself, and sounded 
the water; I found it deep as to my neck. 1 returned with a 
design to have the men transported on board the canoes to the 
sugar camp, which I knew would spend the whole day and 
ensuing night, as the vessels would pass slowly through the 
bushes. 

The loss of so much time, to men half starved, was a matter 
of consequence. I would have given now a great deal for a 
day^s provision, or for one of our horses. I returned but slowly 
to the troops, giving myself time to think. On our arrival, all 
ran to hear what was the report. Every eye was fixed on me. 
I unfortunately spoke in a serious manner to one of the ofiicers : 
the whole were alarmed without knowing what I said. I viewed 
their confusion for about one minute ; whispered to those near 
me to do as I did ; immediately put some water in my hand, 
poured on powder, blackened my face, gave the war-whoop, 
marched into the water without saying a word. 

The party gazed, fell in one after another without saying a 
word, like a flock of sheep. I ordered those near me to give a 
favorite song of theirs : it soon passed through the line, and the 
whole went on cheerfully. I now intended to have them trans- 
ported across the deepest part of the water; but when about 
waist-deep, one of the men informed me that he thought he felt 
a path. We examined, and found it so; and concluded that it 
kept on the highest ground, which it did; and, by taking pains 
to follow it, we got to the sugar camp, without the least diffi- 
culty, where there was about half an acre of dry ground, at least 
not under water, where we took up our lodgings. 

The Frenchmen that we had taken on the river, appeared to 
be uneasy at our situation. They begged that they might be 
permitted to go in the canoes to town in the night : they said 
they would bring from their own houses provisions, without the 
possibility of any person knowing it; that some of our men 
should go with them, as a surety of their good conduct; that it 
was impossible we could march from that place till the water fell, 
for the plain was too deep to march. Some of the officers be- 
lieved that it might be done. I would not suffer it. I never 
could well account for this piece of obstinacy, and give satisfac- 
tory reasons to myself, or any body else, why I denied a propo- 
sition apparently so easy to execute, and of so much advantage ; 
but something seemed to tell me that it should not be done ; 
and it was not done. 


I 


CAPTURE OF VINCENNES. 


805 


The most of tlie weather that we had on this march, was 
[ moist and warm for the season. This was the coldest night we 
jhad. The ice in the morning was from one-half to three-quar- 
^ ters of an inch thick, near the shores, and in still water. The 
i morning w’as the finest we had on the march. A little after 
sunrise I lectured the whole. What I said to them I forget • 
but it may be easily imagined by a person that could possess my 
'atfections for them at that time. I concluded by informing 
them, that passing the plain that was then in full view, and 
reaching the opposite woods, would put an end to their fatigue ; 
that in a few hours they would have a sight of their long-wished 
for object, and immediately stepped into the water without wait- 
ing for a reply. A huzza took place. 

As we generally marched through the water in a line, before 
the third entered I halted, and called to Major Bowman, ordered 
him to fall in the rear with twenty-five men, and to put to death 
any man who refused to march, as we wished to have no such 
person among us. The whole gave a cry of approbation, and on 
we went. This was the most trying of all the difiiculties we had 
experienced. I generally kept fifteen or twenty of the strongest 
men next myself; and judged from my own feelings what must 
be that of others. 

Gretting about the middle of the plain, the water about mid- 
deep, I found myself sensibly failing; and as there were no 
trees nor bushes for the men to support themselves by, I feared 
that many of the most weak would be drowned. I ordered the 
canoes to make the land, discharge their loading, and play back- 
wards and forwards with all diligence, and pick up the men; 
and, to encourage the party, sent some of the strongest men for- 
ward, with orders, when they got to a certain distance, to pass 
the word back that the water was getting shallow ; and when 
getting near the woods to cry out ^ Land V 

This stratagem had its desired effect. The men, encouraged 
by it, exerted themselves almost beyond their abilities, the weak 
holding by the stronger. The water never got shallower, but 
continued deepening. Getting to the woods where the men ex- 
• pected to land, the water was up to my shoulders; but gaining 
the woods was of great consequence. All the low men and 
weakly hung to the trees, and floated on the old logs, until they 
were taken off* by the canoes. The strong and tall got ashore 
and built fires. Many would reach the shore, and fall with their 
bodies half in the water, not being able to support themselves 
without it. 


S06 


CAPTURE OF VINCENNES. 


This was a delightful dry spot of ground, of about ten acres. 
We soon found that fires answered no purpose ; but that two 
strong men taking a weaker one by the arms was the only way 
to recover him ; and, being a delightful day, it soon did. But, 
fortunately, as if designed by Providence, a canoe of Indian 
squaws and children were coming up to town, and took through 
part of this plain as a nigh way. It was discovered by our 
canoes as they were out after the men. They gave chase and 
took the Indian canoe, on board of which was near half a quar- 
ter of buffalo, some corn, tallow, kettles, &c. This was a grand 
prize, and was invaluable. Broth was immediately made and 
served out to the most weakly with great care ; most of the 
whole got a little ; but a great many gave their part to the 
weakly, jocosely saying something cheering to their companions. 
This little refreshment, and fine weather, by the afternoon, gave 
life to the whole. 

Grossing a narrow deep lake in the canoes, and marching 
gome distance, we came to a copse of timber called the Warrior’s 
Island. We were now in full view of the fort and town, not a 
shrub between us, at about two miles distance. Every man 
now feasted his eyes, and forgot that he had suffered anything, 
saying, that all that had passed was owing to good policy, and 
nothing but what a man could bear ; and that a soldier had no 
right to think, &c., passing from one extreme to another, which 
is common in such cases. It was now we had to display our 
abilities. The plain between us and the town was not a perfect 
level. The sunken grounds were covered with water full of 

ducks. We observed several men out on horseback shooting 
them, within half a mile of us ; and sent out many of our active 
young Frenchmen to decoy and take one of these men prisoner, 
in such a manner as not to alarm the others ; which they did. 
The information we got from this person was similar to that 
which we got from those we took on the river, except that of 
the British having that evening completed the wall of the fort, 
and that there were a good many Indians in town. 

Our situation was now truly critical ; no possibility of re- 
treating in case of defeat ; and in full view of a town that had, 
at this time, upwards of six hundred men in it, troops, inhabi- 
tants, and Indians. The crew of the galley, though not fifty 
men, would now have been a reinforcement of immense magni- 
tude to our little army (if I may so call it), but we would not 
think of them. We were now in the situation that I had la- 
bored to get ourselves in. The idea of being made prisoner 


THE AMERICAN FLAG. 


307 


wns foreign to almost every man, as they expected nothing 
but torture from the savages, if they fell into their hands. Our 
fate was now to be determined, probably in a few hours. We 
knew that nothing but the most daring conduct would ensure 
success. 

I knew that a number of inhabitants wished us well ; that 
many were luke-warm to the interest of either; and I also 
learned that the Grand Chief, the Tobacco^s son, had, but a few 
days before, openly declared in council with the British, that he 
was a brother and a friend to the Big Knives. 

Colonel Clark sent a proclamation to the inhabitants, assuring 
them of protection ; and a summons to Colonel Hamilton, com- 
mander of the British garrison, ordering him to capitulate. The 
latter, supposing that the post was invested by a large force from 
Kentucky, surrendered at discretion. 


THE AMEEICAN FLAG. 

When Freedom, from her mountain height, 
Unfurled her standard to the air. 

She tore the azure robe of night. 

And set the stars of glory there. 

She mingled with its gorgeous dyes, 

The milky baldrick of the skies. 

And striped its pure, celestial white. 

With streakings of the morning light; 
Then, from his mansion in the sun, 

She called her eagle-bearer down, 

And gave into his mighty hand 
The symbol of her chosen land. 

Majestic monarch of the cloud ! 

Who rear ^st aloft thy regal form. 

To hear the tempest trumping loud. 

And see the lightning-lances driven. 

When strides the warrior of the storm. 
And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven ; 
Child of the sun ! to thee T is given 
To guard the banner of the free. 


THE AMERICAN FLAG. 


To hover in the sulphur smoke, 

To ward a wav the battle stroke, 
And bid its blendings shine afar. 
Like rainbows in the cloud of war, 
The harbinger of victory. 


Flag of the brave ! thy folds shall fly 
The sign of hope and triumph high. 

AVhen speaks the signal-trumpet tone. 

And the long line comes gleaming on, 

Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet, 

Has dimmed the glistening bayonet, 

Each soldier^s eye shall brightly turn 
To where meteor glories burn, 

And as his springing steps advance, 

Catch war and vengeance from the glance ; 
And when the cannon^s mouthings loud, 
Heave, in wild wreaths, the battle shroud, 
And gory sabres rise and fall, 

Like shoots of flame on midnight^s pall, 
There shall thy victor glances glow. 

And cowering foes shall sink below 
Each gallant arm, that strikes beneath 
That awful messenger of death. 


Flag of the seas ! on ocean^s wave 
Thy stars shall glitter o^er the brave. 
When death careering on the gale. 
Sweeps datkly round the bellied sail. 
And frighted waves rush wildly back, 
Before the broadside^s reeling rack. 
The dying wanderer of the sea 
Shall look at once to heaven and thee. 
And smile, to see thy splendors fly 
In triumph o^er his closing eye. 


Flag of the free hearths only home 1 
By angel hands to valor given. 

Thy stars have lit the welkin dome. 

And all thv hues were born in heaven. 
Forever float that standard sheet! 

Where breathes the foe but falls before us 
With Freedom’s soil beneath our feet. 

And Freedom’s banner waving o’er us. 


THE EAGLE. 


309 


THE EAHLE. 

Bird of the broad and sweeping wing, 

Thy home is high in heaven, 

Where the wide storms their banners fling, 
And the tempest-clouds are driven. 

Thy throne is on the mountain-top ; 

Thy fields the boundless air ; 

And hoary peaks, that proudly prop 
The skies, thy dwellings are. 


Thou art perched aloft, on the beetling crag. 
And the waves are white below. 

And on, with a haste that cannot lag. 

They rush in an endless flow. 

Again thou hast plumed thy wing for flight 
To lands beyond the sea. 

And away, like a spirit wreathed in light, 
Thou hurriest, wild and free. 


Lord of the boundless realm of air, 

In thy imperial name. 

The hearts of the bold and ardent dare 
The dangerous path of fame. 

Beneath the shade of thy golden wings. 
The Roman legions bore. 

From the river of Egypt^s cloudy springs 
Their pride to the Polar shore. 


For thee they fought, for thee they fell. 

And their oath on thee was laid ; 

To thee the clarions raised their swell. 

And the dying warrior prayed. 

Thou wert, through an age of death and fears. 
The image of pride and power. 

Till the gathered rage of a thousand years. 
Burst forth in one awful hour. 


^ And then, a deluge of wrath it came. 

And the nations shook with dread ; 

And it swept the earth, till its fields wore flame. 
And piled with the mingled dead. 

Kings were rolled in the wasteful flood. 

With the low and crouching slave; 

And together lay in a shroud of blood, 

The coward and the brave. 


310 


THE CHARACTER OF GREENE. 


And where was then thj fearless flight ? 

“ O’er the dark and mysterious sea. 

To the land that caught the setting light. 

The cradle of Liberty. 

There, on the silent and lonely shore, 

For ages I watched alone. 

And the world, in its darkness, asked no more 
Where the glorious bird had flown. 

“ But then, came a bold and hardy few, 

And they breasted the unknown wave ; 

I saw from far the wandering crew. 

And I knew they were high and brave. 

I wheeled around the welcome bark, 

As it sought the desolate shore. 

And up to heaven, like a joyous lark. 

My quivering pinions bore. 

“ And now, that bold and hardy few 
Are a nation wide and strong ; 

And danger and doubt 1 have led them through. 
And they worship me in song ; 

And over their bright and glancing arms. 

On field, and lake, and sea. 

With an eye that fires, and a spell that charms, 
I guide them to victory I" 


THE CHARACTER OF GREENE. 

Next to Washington, Greene was the ablest commander in 
the revolutionary army. In person he was 'above the middle 
height, and strongly made. He had a fine face, with a florid 
complexion, lit up by brilliant blue eyes. His natural expression 
was frank and benevolent, but in battle it assumed a sternness, 
which showed that beneath his easy and gentle manners was a 
strength of purpose not easily overcome. When highly excited, 
or absorbed in intense thoueht, he had a curious habit of rubbing 
violently his upper lip with his fore-finger. 

Inured by exposure and toil, his frame possessed a wonderful 
power of endurance, rendered still greater by the indomitable 
will it enclosed. A self-made man, he rose from the ranks to 
be major-general of the army, solely by his own genius and force. 
Ignorant at first of military tactics, he applied himself with such 
diligence to the subject, that he mastered them in less time than 
many employ on the rudiments ; and the knowledge he obtained 


THE CHARACTER OF GREENE. 


311 


[was not merely so many maxims and rules stowed away, but prin- 
iciplcs, out of which he wrought his own plans and system, 
j He had almost an intuitive perception of character. He resem- 
bled Washington in this respect, and seemed to take the exact 
measure of every man who approached him. Many of his 
actions in the field were based upon this knowledge of his adver- 
saries, and hence, though often inexplicable to others, perfectly 
clear and rational to himself. 

Thus, in the southern campaign against Cornwallis his move- 
ments were sometimes considered rash in the extreme, bv those 
who judged of them merely from the relative position and strength 
of the armies. But to him, who could judge more correctly 
from his knowledge of men^s views and character, than from their 
transient movements, what course they would take, they appeared 
the wisest he could adopt. 

A more fearless man never led an armv ; and his couraofe was 
not the result of sudden enthusiasm, or even of excitement, but 
of a well-balanced and strong character. He was never known 
to be thrown from his perfect self-possession by any danger, how- 
ever sudden ; and was just as calm and collected when his shat- 
tered army tossed in a perfect wreck around him, as in his tent 
at nis:ht. The roar of artillerv, and the tumult of a fierce-foueht 
battle, could not disturb the natural action of his mind; his 
thoughts were as clear, and his judgment was as correct, in the 
midst of a sudden and unexpected overthrow, as in planning a 
campaign. 

This gave him tremendous power, and was the great reason 
that, though beaten, he could not be utterly routed. Xo matter 
how superior his antagonist, or how unexpected the panic of his 
troops, he was never, like Gates, driven a fugitive from the field. 
He possessed two qualities seldom found united ; great caution, 
and yet great rapidity. His blow was carefully planned, and 
when it came it fell like lightning. 

His mind was clear and comprehensive, and worked with cease- 
less activity and energy. Xothing could escape his glance, and 
he seemed io forecast all the contingencies that did or could 
happen. His fortitude was wonderful. All exposures, all pri- 
vations, all embarrassments, toils and sufferings, he bore with a 
patience that filled his soldiers with astonishment and admiration. 
During his southern campaign he never took off his clothes, ex- 
cept to change them, for seven months ; and sometimes would 
be in the saddle two days on a stretch, without a moment’s re- 
pose. 

His energy was equal to his endurance : for he not only bore 


812 


THE CHARACTER OF GREENE. 


everything bravely, but under difficulties that would have weighed 
an ordinary man to the earth, put forth almost superhuman ex- 
ertions. No sooner was one obstacle surmounted than he attacked 
another ; and no sooner was one danger escaped than he plunged 
into another, again to extricate himself, to the astonishment of 
all. Tireless as fate itself, he would neither take repose, nor 
allow it to his enemy. His whole career, while opposed to Corn- 
wallis, is one of the most remarkable in the history of military 
men. 

When he took command of the southern army, he found it to 
consist of a mere handful of destitute, undisciplined, and ragged 
troops ; yet, with these, he entered the field against one of the 
best generals of the age, supported by an army of veteran sol- 
diers. With his raw recruits around him, he immediately began 
the offensive ; and before his powerful enemy had time to pene- 
trate his plans, smote him terribly at Cowpens. 

Having by this movement brought the whole English force 
against him, he was compelled to retreat, and by a series of skil- 
ful manoeuvres and forced marches, completely foiled every 
attempt to reach him. Unable to cope with his adversary, he, 
nevertheless, refused to quit the field; retiring like the lion, 
slowly and resolutely. He kept his pursuer ever under his eye, 
so that he could not make a mistake without receiving a blow. 

He stopped when his adversary stopped, and looked him boldly 
in the face, till he provoked him to burn his baggage, in order to 
convert his entire army into light troops, and thus facilitate his 
movements. But even then he would outmarch and out-ma- 
noeuvre him, penetrating and baffling every plan laid against 
him, and carrying out every one of his own. 

He thus led his enemy through the entire state of North Caro- 
lina; and the moment he turned, followed him, and dealt him 
such a staggering blow at Guilford, that he was compelled to a 
precipitate flight. No sooner was Cornwallis beyond his reach, 
than he turned furiously on his posts in South Carolina, and 
carrying them one after another, brought the war to the doors of 
Charleston. His combinations, throughout the whole campaign, 
were admirable, and succeeded beyond the most sanguine expec- 
tations. He did not commit a single error, and every failure that 
befell him was the result of the most arrant cowardice on the 
part of some of his militia. 

Years before, the English officer opposed to him in Jersey, 
wrote, saying, Greene is as dangerous as Washington, he is vigi- 
lant, enterprising, and full of resources.^^ The Chevalier de la 
Luzerne, Knight of Malta, in speaking of his southern cam- 


I 


THE CHARACTER OF GREENE. 313 

paign, said : Other generals subdue their enemy by the means 

which their country or sovereign furnishes them; but Greene 
appears to reduce his enemy by his own means. He commenced 
his campaign without either an army, provisions, or military 
stores. He has asked for nothing since ; and yet, scarcely a post 
arrives from the South that does not bring intelligence of some 
new advantage gained over the foe. He conquers by magic. 
History furnishes no parallel to this.^' 

The resources of his mind were inexhaustible; there was no 
gulf out of which he could not find a way of escape, and no plan, 
if necessary, too hopeless for him to attempt. Without a dollar 
from government, and penniless himself, he nevertheless man- 
aged to keep an army in the field, and conquer with it. True, 
it was half-naked and half-starved ; but by his wonderful power 
he succeeded in holding it together. 

His soldiers loved him with devotion, and having seen him 
extricate himself so often from apparently inevitable ruin, they 
at length came to regard him as invincible. Sharing all their 
toils and dangers, and partaking of all their sufferings, he so 
wound himself into their affections, that they would go wherever 
he commanded. He made of raw militia all that ever can be 
made of them, in the short time he had them under his control. 

His patriotism was of the purest kind, and Washington spoke 
from correct knowledge when he said : Could he but promote 

the interests of his country in the character of a corporal, he 
would exchange, without a murmur, his epaulettes for the knot.^^ 
His own reputation and life he regarded as nothing in the cause 
of freedom. Next to his country, he loved Washington ; and no 
mean ambition, or envy of his great leader, ever sullied his noble 
character. 

That affection was returned, and the two heroes moved side by 
side, as tried friends, through the revolutionary struggle. He 
was a man whose like is seldom seen ; and placed in any country, 
opposed to any commander, would have stood first in the rank of 
military chieftains. In the heart of Europe, with a veteran army 
under his command, he would have astonished the wmrld. 


27 


314 


FEMALE HEROISM. 


fp:male heroism. 


In 1777, Fort TTcnry, in Oliio County, Virginia, was attacked 
by the Indians. The defence was made with vigor, but suddenly 
the ammunition became exhausted, and surrender seemed tlio 
only alternative. There was a keg of powder in a house about 
twelve rods distant, which to obtjiiu would prolong the defence, 
and perhaps preserve the lives of the whole garrison. It was 
resolved that one person should venture out, and, if possible, 
secure, and bear into the fort the valued prize. . 

The Indians having retired a little distance, a favorable oppor- 
tunity was afforded, but it became difficult to decide who should 
undertake the service, as every soldier was emulous for the honor 
of performing the perilous, but honorable enterprise. Their con- 
tention, however, wjus cut short by Miss Zane, who claimed to be 
chosen for performing the duty, giving as reasons, that the life of 
a soldier was more valuable in the defence of the fort, than wa.s 
her own, and that her sex might preserve her errand from sus- 
picion, and secure the success of the plan. Her resolute manner 
and urgent arguments overcame the scruples of the officer, and 
she was permitted to make the attempt. 

The Indians observed her depart from the fort, but, from some 
unknown cause, offered her no molestation. She reached the 
house, seized the powder, and hastened to return. But by this 
time the savages comprehended the object of her visit without the 
fort. Tiiey fired a volley after her, as she with speed ran rapidly 
along to the gate of the fort. Fortunately not a bullet injured 
her. They only gave activity to her movements, and reaching 
the fort, she was admitted, to the unbounded joy of the garrison. 
Animated by so noble an instiince of heroism, the besieged fought 
with a bravery and vigor which the enemy could not overcome, 
and they raised the siege. 


During the Revolutionary war, while Fort Motte, situated on 
Congaree River, in South Carolina, was in the hands of the Bri- 
tish, in order to effect its surrender, it became necessary to burn 
a large mansion standing near the centre of the trench. The 
house was the property of Mrs. Motte. Lieut. Colonel Lee com- 
municated to her the contemplated work of destruction with pain- 
ful reluctance, but her smiles, half anticipating his proposal, 
showed, at once, that she was willing to sacrifice her propertv if 


A STORY OF A DOG. 


315 


she could thereby aid in the least degree towards the expulsion 
of the enemy and the salvation of the land. The reply she made 
to the proposal was that she was gratified with the opportunity 
of contributing to the good of her country, and should view the 
approaching scene with delight 


A STOKY OF A DOG. 

In 1778, just after the raising of the siege of Fort Stanwix, in 
the Mohawk Valley, the following occurrence took place. Cap- 
tain Gregg, and a corporal were out shooting during the day, 
when as evening drew near, they prepared to return to the fort, 
as parties of Indians were sometimes prowling about. But a 
flock of pigeons alighting near them, they were about to fire upon 
them, when two shots were heard, and Gregg saw his companion 
flill dead, while he felt a wound in his side, which so weakened 
him that he speedily fell. Two Indians immediately appeared 
from a thicket and approached them. Gregg at once saw that 
his only hope was to feign death. 

One of the savages struck him in the head with a hatchet, and 
then with his knife cut a circle around his crown, and with his 
teeth drew oflf his scalp. The Indians now withdrew, and as soon 
as they were fairly gone, Gregg, though suffering terribly from his 
wounds in his side and head, resolved to endeavor to reach his 
companion, from a belief that if he could place his head on the cor- 
poral's body, his anguish from the wound in his head would be 
eased. He, therefore, made an effort to rise, but he had no 
sooner got to his feet, than he fell heavily. Not despairing, he 
essayed again, but with the same result. The third time he so 
far succeeded, as to be enabled to stagger slowly to the spot where 
the corporal lay. He found his companion lifeless and scalped. 
He placed his head upon his bloody body, and, as he had hoped, 
this position afforded him some relief. 

But the comfort of this position was destroyed by the annoy- 
ances of a small dog, which had accompanied him in his expedi- 
tion, who now came up to him in great agony, leaping, yelping, 
and whining around his master, whom he annoyed by his great 
distress. Wearied with his efforts to force the dog from him, he 
exclaimed involuntarily, If you wish so much to help me, go 
and call some one to my relief.'^ To his surprise, the dog imme- 
diately bounded off through the forest at his utmost speed. 

The dog made his way to where three men were fishing, about 


316 


DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. 


a mile from the scene where the tragedy was enacted, and as he 
came up to them, began to cry and whine, and endeavored to 
attract their attention by bounding off into the woods, returning, 
and urging them to follow him. These extraordinary actions of 
the do<r convinced the men that there was some unusual cause, 
and they resolved to follow him. They proceeded for some dis- 
tance, and finding nothing, while darkness was already settled 
around, making the forest exceedingly dangerous, they deter- 
mined to return. 

But no sooner did they attempt to retrace their steps, than the 
dog began to cry out with his utmost violence, caught hold of 
their coats with his teeth, and endeavored to force them to follow. 
As they continued to return, the violence of the dog increased, 
until the men, astonished at the pertinacity of his manner, con- 
cluded to go with him. Presently, they came to where Gregg 
was lying, whom they still found living. They buried the cor- 
poral, and carried the captain into the fort. Astonishing as it 
may seem, the wounds of Gregg, severe as they were, healed up, 
and he recovered his perfect health. 


DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. 

When, in the course of human events, it becomes necessary 
for one people to dissolve the political bands which have con- 
nected them with another, and to assume, among the powers of 
the earth, the separate and equal station to which the laws of 
Nature and of Nature^s God entitle them, a decent respect to the 
opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes 
which impel them to the separation. 

We hold these truths to be self-evident ; — that all men are 
created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain 
unalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty, and the 
pursuit of happiness. That to secure these rights, governments 
are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the 
consent of the governed ; that whenever any form of government 
becomes destnictive of these ends, it is the right of the people 
to alter or to abolish it, and to institute a new government, laying 
its foundation on such principles, and organizing its powers in 
such form, as to them shall seem most likely to e&ct their safety 
and happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate, that governments 
long established should not be changed for light and transient 
causes ; and accordingly all experience hath shown, that mankind 




DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. 817 


I are more disposed to suffer while evils are sufferable, than to right 
I themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. 

! But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing in- 
■ variably the same object, evinces a design to reduce them under 
absolute despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off 
j such government, and to provide new guards for their future 
I • security. Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies ; 

I and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their 
I former systems of government. The history of the present king 
of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, 
all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute 
tyranny over these States. To prove this, let facts be submitted 
to a candid world. 

. He has refused his assent to laws the most wholesome and 
necessary for the public good. 

He has forbidden his governors to pass laws of immediate and 
pressing importance, unless suspended in their operation, till his 
.assent should be obtained; and when so suspended, he has utterly 
neglected to attend to them. He has refused to pass other laws 
for the accommodation of large districts of people, unless those 
people would relinquish the right of representation in the legis- 
, lature — a right inestimable to them, and formidable to tyrants 
• only. 

He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, un- 
comfortable, and distant from the repository of their public 
records, for the sole purpose of ffitiguing them into compliance 
with his measures. 

He has dissolved representative houses repeatedly, for opposing, 
with manly firmness, his invasions on the rights of the people. 

He -has refused, for a long time after such dissolutions, to cause 
-others to be elected; whereby the legislative powers, incapable 
of annihilation, have returned to the people at large, for their 
exercise ; the State remaining, in the mean time, exposed to all 
i the dangers of invasion from without, and convulsions within. 

He has endeavored to prevent the population of these States ; 
for that purpose obstructing the laws for naturalization of 
foreigners ; refusing to pass others to encourage their migration 
hither, and raising the conditions of new appropriations of lands. 

He has obstructed the administration of justice, by refusing 
his assent to laws for establishing judiciary powers. 

He has made judges dependent on his will alone, for the tenure 
of their offices, and the amount and payment of their salaries. 

He has erected a multitude of new offices, and sent hither 


/ 


818 DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. 


swarms of officers, to harass our people, and eat out their 
substance. 

He has kept among us, in times of peace, standing armies 
without the consent of our legislatures. 

He has affected to render the military independent of, and 
superior to, the civil power. 

He has combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction 
foreign to our constitution, and unacknowledged by our laws; 
giving his assent to their acts of pretended legislation : 

For quartering large bodies of armed troops among us : 

For protecting them, by a mock trial, from punishment for any 
murders which they should commit on the inhabitants of these 
States : 

For cutting off our trade with all parts of the world : 

For imposing taxes on us without our consent : 

For depriving us, in many cases, of the benefits of trial by 
jury : 

For transporting us beyond seas, to be tried for pretended 
offences : 

For abolishing the free system of English laws in a neighboring 
province, establishing therein an arbitrary government, and en- 
larging its boundaries, so as to render it at once an example and 
fit instrument for introducing the same absolute rule into these 
Colonies : 

For taking away our charters, abolishing our most valuable 
laws, and altering, fundamentally, the forms of our governments : 

For suspending our own legislatures, and declaring themselves 
invested with power to legislate for us in all cases whatsoever. 

He has abdicated government here, by declaring us out of his 
protection, and waging war against us. 

He has plundered our seas, ravaged our coasts, burnt our 
towns, and destroyed the lives of our people. 

He is at this time transporting large armies of foreign merce- 
naries to complete the works of death, desolation, and tyranny, 
already begun with circumstances of cruelty and perfidy, scarcely 
paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and totally unworthy the 
head of a civilized nation. 

He has constrained our fellow-citizens-, taken captive on the 
high seas, to bear arms against their country, to become the exe- 
cutioners of their friends and brethren, or to fall themselves by 
their hands. 

He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, and has en- 
deavored to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers the merciless 


« 

DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. 819 

Indian savages, wJiose known rule of warfare is an undistinguLslied 
destruction of all ages, sexes, and conditions. 

In every stage of these oppressions, we have petitioned for 
redress in the most humble terms : our repeated petitions have 
been answered only by repeated injury, A prince, whose cha- 
racter is thus marked by every act which may define a tyrant, is 
unfit to be the ruler of a free people. 

Nor have we been wanting in attention to our British brethren. 
We have warned them, from time to time, of attempts by their 
legislature to extend an unwarrantable jurisdiction over us. We 
have reminded them of the circumstances of our migration and 
settlement here. We have appealed to their native justice and 
magnaminity, and we have conjured them by the ties of our 
common kindred to disavow these usurpations, which would in- 
evitably interrupt our connections and correspondence. They, 
too, have been deaf to the voice of justice and of consanguinity. 
We must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity which denounces 
our separation, and hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind — 
enemies in war, in peace friends. 

WE, therefore, the representatives of the United States of 
America, in general congress assembled, appealing to the Supreme 
Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the 
name and by the authority of the good people of these Colonies, 
solemnly publish and declare, that these united Colonies are, and 
of right ought to be, free and independent States ; that they are 
absolved from all allegiance to the British Crown, and that all 
political connection between them and the state of Great Britain 
is, and ought to be, totally dissolved ; and that, as free and inde- 
pendent States, they have full power to levy war, conclude peace, 
contract alliances, establish commerce, and to do all other acts and 
things which independent States may of right do. And for 
tlie support of this declaration, with a firm reliance on the pro- 
tection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other 
our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor. 


320 


COLUMBIA. 


COLUMBIA. 

Columbia, Columbia, to glory arise, 

The queen of the world and the child of the skies ; 

Thy genius commands thee ; with rapture behold, 
While ages on ages thy splendors unfold. 

Thy reign is the last and noblest of time ; 

Most fruitful thy soil, most inviting thy clime ; 

Let the crimes of the east ne^er encrimson thy name; 
Be freedom and science, and virtue thy fame. 

To conquest and slaughter let Europe aspire; 

Whelm nations in blood and wrap cities in fire; 

Thy heroes the rights of mankind shall defend, 

And triumph pursue them, and glory attend. 

A world is thy realm ; for a world be thy laws. 
Enlarged as thy empire, and just as thy cause ; 

On Freedom’s broad basis that empire shall rise. 
Extend with the main, and dissolve with the skies. 

Fair Science her gates to thy sons shall unbar. 

And the east see thy morn hide the beams of thy star; 
New bards and new sages, unrivall’d, shall soar 
To fame, unextinguish’d when time is no more ; 

To thee, the last refuge of virtue design’d, 

Shall fly from all nations the best of mankind ; 

Here, grateful, to Heaven with transport shall bring 
Their incense, more fragrant than odors of spring. 

Nor less shall thy fair ones to glory ascend, 

And genius and beauty in harmony blend ; 

The graces of form shall awake pure desire. 

And the charms of the soul ever cherish the fire; 

Their sweetness unmingled, their manners refined, 

And virtue’s bright image enstamp’d on the mind, 
AVith peace and soft rapture shall teach life to glow. 
And light up a smile in the aspect of wo. 


Thy fleets to all regions thy power shall display. 

The nations admire, and the ocean obey ; 

Each shore to thy glory its tribute unfold. 

And the east and the south yield their spices and gold ; 
As the day-spring unbounded, thy splendor shall flow. 
And earth’s little kingdoms before thee shall bow, 
AVhile the ensigns of union, in triumph unfurl’d. 

Hush tho tumult of war, and give peace to the world. 


WASHINGTON AND HIS MOTHER. 


321 


‘ ^ - Thus, as down a lone valley, with' cedars overspread, 

From war^s dread confusion I pensively strayM — 
i The gloom from the face of fair heaven retired, 

k The winds ceased to murmur, the thunders expired. 

Perfumes, as of Eden, flowM sweetly along, 

|H And a voice, as of angels, enchantingly sung; 

H| “ Columbia, Columbia, to glory arise, 

Pi - The queen of the world, and the €hild of the skies." 

Hui - 


- 4.^ WASHINGTON AND HIS MOTHER. 

I It is impossible to visit the shades of Mount Vernon ; to stand 
near the tomb where the father of his country reposes ; to see 
j the gardens which he cultivated; the mansion where he rested 
j from the toils of war ; the piazza where he so often lingered to 
view the setting sun gild the mighty Potomac — without desiring 
,to be acquainted with his domestic life, and to save from oblivion 
I every circumstance respecting him. Many anecdotes of his early 
years are treasined in this land of his nativity. Some of the 
most interesting ones were derived from his mother — a dignified 
and pious matron, who, by the death of her husband, while her 
children were young, became the sole conductress of their educa- 
I tion. 

! To the inquiry, what course she had pursued in rearing one so 
truly illustrious, she replied, ^^Only to require ohedienccj dili- 
ge7ic6j and truth These simple rules, faithfully enforced, and 
incorporated with the rudiments of character, had a powerful 
influence over his future greatness. He was early accustomed to 
accuracy in all his statements, and to speak of his faults and 
omissions without prevarication or disguise. Hence arose that 
noble openness of soul, and contempt of deceit in others, which 
ever distinguished him. Once, by an inadvertence of his youth, 
a considerable loss had been incurred, and of such a nature as to 
interfere immediately with the plans of his mother. He came 
to her with a frank acknowledgment of his error; and she re- 
plied, while a tear of affection moistened her eye, ‘^I had far 
rather it should be so, than that my son should have been guilty 
of a falsehood." 

She was careful not to enervate him by luxury or weak in- 
dulgence. He was inured to early rising, and never permitted 
to be idle. Sometimes he engaged in labors which the children 
of wealthy parents would now account severe — and thus acquired 


322 


WASHINGTON AND HIS MOTHER, 


firmness of frame^ and a disregard of hardship. The systematic 
improvement of time, which, fiom childhood, he had been taught, 
was of great service when the weight of a nation^ s concerns de- 
volved upon him. It was observed by those who surrounded his 
person, that he was never Imown to he m a hurry j but found time 
for the transaction of the smallest affairs, in the midst of the 
greatest and most conflicting duties. Such benefits did he de- 
rive from attention to the counsels of his mother. His obedience 
to her commands, when a child, was cheerful and strict ; and, as 
he approached maturer years, the expression of Ifer slightest 
wishes was a law. 

Her uncommon influence over him was strengthened by that 
dignity with which true piety invested her. This imparted to | 
her elevation of feeling and serenity of mind. During some 
periods of our revolutionary war, when the fears of the people 
were wrought up to a distressing anxiety, many mistaken reports i 
were in circulation, which agonized the hearts of those whose ' 
friends occupied posts of danger. It would sometimes be said | 
to her, Madam, intelligence has been received that our army i 
is defeated, and your son a prisoner.^^ My son,^^ she would j 
reply, has been in the habit of acting in difficult situations, i 
and is in the hands of his God.^^ : 

Again, it would be announced, Through Washington, a great : 
victory has been gained. And she would answer, Give the ! 
praise to the God of battles. It was evident, that this calmness ! 
of spirit proceeded neither from want of maternal affection nor i 
indifference to the fortunes of war, but from the inspiring confi- ' 
dence of a Christian’s faith. At length, the blessings of peace I 
and independence were vouchsafed to our nation ; and W ashington, ! 
who, for eight years, had been divided from the repose of his i 
home, hasted, with filial reverence, to ask his mother’s blessing. | 
The hero, ‘‘ first in war, first in peace, first in the hearts of his ; 
countrymen,” came to lay his laurels at her feet, who had first ' 
sown their seeds in his soul. i 

This venerable woman continued, until past her ninetieth year, 
to b^ respected and beloved by all around her. At length, the | 
wasting agony of a cancer terminated her existence, at the ' 
residence of her daughter, in Fredericksburg, Virginia. Wash- | 
ington was with her, in the last stages of life, to mitigate the i 
severity of her sufferings, by the most tender offices of affection. 
With pious grief he closed her eyes, and laid her in the grave 
which she had selected for herself. It was in a beautiful and 
secluded del!, on the family estate, partly overshadowed by trees, 


WASHINGTON AND HIS MOTHER. 


823 


where she frequently retired for meditation, and where the setting 
sun beams with the softest radiance. 

Travellers who visit the tomb at Mount Vernon will find it 
interesting to extend their pilgrimage to this spot, where died 
the mother of our hero, whom he was thought, in person and 
manners, greatly to resemble. 

We have now seen the man who was the leader of victorious 
armies, the conqueror of a mighty kingdom, and the admiration 
of the world, in the delightful attitude of an obedient and an 
affectionate son. We have traced many of his virtues back to 
that sweet submission to maternal guidance, which distinguished 
his early years. She whom he honored with such filial rever- 
ence, said, that ^^he had learned to command others by first 
learning to obey.'^ 


READING EXERCISES 


ILLUSTRATING THE FOURTH ERA. 


A SYNOPSIS OF THE CONSTITUTION OF THE 

UNITED STATES. 

All legislative powers herein granted shall be invested in a 
Congress of the United States^ which shall consist of a Senate 
and House of E<3presentatives. 

The House of Representatives is composed of members chosen 
every second year by the people of the several States. 

A Representative must be twenty-five years of age, and have 
been seven years a citizen of the United States, and, when elected, 
be an inhabitant of that State in which he shall be chosen. 

There is at present one Representative for every ninety-three 
thousand inhabitants. 

The Senate is composed of two Senators from each State, chosen 
by the legislature thereof, for six years. 

A Senator must be thirty years of age, have been nine years a 
citizen of the United States, and, when elected, be an inhabitant 
of the State for which he shall be chosen. 

The Vice-President of the United States is the President of 
the Senate, but shall have no vote unless they be equally divided. 

Senators and Representatives receive each eight dollars a day, 
while Congress is in session. ' 

Congress assembles in the City of Washington on the first 
Monday of December, each year. 

No Senator or Representative shall hold office under the United 
States. 

A majority of each House constitutes a quorum to do business. 

Every bill which shall have passed the House of Representa- 
tives and the Senate, shall, before it becomes a law, be presented 
to the President of the United States : if he approve he shall 
sign it, but if not he shall return it, with his objections, within 

( 324 ) 


4 


SYNOPSIS OF THE CONSTITUTION. 


325 


ten days, for reconsideration. If, after such reconsideration, two- 
thirds of each House shall agree to pass the bill, it shall become 
a law, notwithstanding the veto of the President. 

Congress has power — To lay and collect taxes, duties, imposts, 
i and excises ; to pay debts, and provide for the common defence 
i and general welfare of the United States; to borrow money; to 
f regulate commerce ; to establish uniform naturalization laws ; to 
coin money, and regulate the rates thereof, and of foreign coin, 
and fix the standard of weights and measures ; to establish post- 
j offices and post-roads; to secure to authors and inventors, for 
5 limited times, the exclusive right to their respective writings and 
^ discoveries ; to define and punish piracies and felonies committed 
i on the high seas, and offences against the law of nations ; to de- 
i dare war ; to raise and support armies and a navy ; to provide 
j for organizing, arming, disciplining, and calling forth the militia; 
i to make rules for the government and regulation of the land and 
naval forces ; to make all laws which shall be necessary for car- 
rying into execution all powers vested by the Constitution in the 
Government of the United States. 

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of re- 
I ligion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof ; or abridging the 
freedom of speech, or of the press ; or the right of the people 
i peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a re- 
I dress of grievances. 

No title of nobility shall be granted by the United States. 

The executive power is vested in a President of the United 
i States of America. 

The President and Vice-President, who are chosen for the 
' term of four years, are elected as follows : — The people of the 
several States elect persons called electors, who vote for the Pre- 
sident and Vice-President; each State appointing as many elec- 
tors as the whole number of Senators and Representatives in 
Congress to which it is entitled. The electors shall meet in 
their respective States, and vote by ballot for President and 
Vice-President, of whom one at least shall not be an inhabitant 

of the same State with themselves. The result of the ballot 
0 

being signed and certified by them, shall be transmitted to the 
I seat of Government of the United States, directed to the Presi- 
'' dent of the Senate, who, in the presence of both Houses of Con- 
gress, shall open all certificates, and the votes shall then be 
I counted. The person having the votes of a majority of the 
i whole number of electors appointed, shall be President ; and if 
no person have the votes of a majority, the House of Represent- 
atives shall, from the highest three, choose the President. 

28 


826 


SYNOPSIS OP THE CONSTITUTION. 


The President must be a native of the United States, thirty- 
five years of age or upwards, and fourteen years a resident of the 
United States. 

In case of the removal of the President from ofiice, by death 
. or any other cause, the Vice-President becomes President, and 
shall serve out the term the President had to serve ; and in case 
of the removal from office of both President and Vice-President, 
Congress declares what officer shall act as President. 

The President receives, at present, a salary of twenty-five 
thousand dollars annually; and the Vice-President sixteen dollars 
per day. 

The President, before entering on the duties of his office, takes 
the following oath or affirmation : — 

do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will faithfully execute 
the office of President of the United States, and will, to the best 
of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of 
the United States. 

The President is Commander-in-chief of the army and navy of 
the United States; he has power to grant reprieves and pardons 
for offences against the United States, except in cases of impeach- 
ment. He has power, with consent of the Senate, to make trea- 
ties, to appoint ambassadors, other public ministers and consuls, 
judges of the Supreme Court, &c.; he may, on extraordinary oc- 
casions, convene both Houses, or either of them. 

The President, Vice-President, and all civil officers of the 
United States, shall be removed from office for, and on conviction 
of, treason, bribery, or other high crimes and misdemeanors. 

The judicial power of the United States is vested in one Su- 
preme Court, and such inferior Courts as Congress may think 
proper to establish, the judges holding their offices during good 
behavior. 

The trial of all crimes, except in cases of impeachment, shall 
be by jury; and such trial shall be held in the State where said 
crimes shall have been committed. 

Treason against the United States consists only in levying war 
against them, or in adhering to their enemies, giving them aid 
and comfort. 

A person charged in any State with a crime, who shall flee 
from justice, and be found in another State, shall, on demand of 
the executive authority of the State from whence he fled, be de- 
livered up, to be removed to the State having jurisdiction of the 
crime. 

Congress may admit new States into this Union ; but no new 
State shall be formed within the jurisdiction of any other State, 


GEORGE WASHINGTON. 


327 


I 


nor any State be formed by the junction of two or more States, 
, or parts of States, without the consent of the legislatures of the 
3 States concerned. 

Alterations or amendments to the Constitution must be pro- 
posed by two-thirds of both Houses, and ratified by three-fourths 
: of the legislatures of the several States. 

All executive and judicial officers, both of the United States 
I and of the several States, are bound by oath or affirmation to 
, support the Constitution ; but no religious test shall ever be re- 
I quired as a qualification to any office or public trust under the 
t United States. 

I There shall be no unreasonable searches or seizures ; and no 
n warrants shall issue but upon probable cause, supported by oath 
i or affirmation, particularly describing the place to be searched, 
1 and the person or things to be seized. 

, No person shall be compelled, in any criminal case, to be wit- 
I ness against himself. 

In all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right 
, to a speedy and public trial, by an impartial jury of the State 
* and district wherein the crime shall have been committed ; to be 
confronted with the witnesses against him ; to have compulsory 
process for obtaining witnesses in his favor; and to have the 
assistance of counsel for defence. 

The powers not delegated to the United States by the Consti- 
tution, nor prohibited by it to the States, are reserved to the 
' States respectively, or to the people. 


GEOEGE WASHINGTON. 

Long before the war of the American revolution broke out, a 
^ leader was raised up' and perfectly fitted for the great office. 
- Among the mountain passes of the Blue Ptidge and the Allcgha- 
! nies, a youth is seen employed in the manly and invigorating 
occupations of a surveyor, and awakening the admiration of the 
hardy backwoodsmen and savage chieftains by the strength and 
I endurance of his frame, and the resolution and energy of his cha- 
r racter. In his stature and conformation, he is a noble specimen 
of a man. In the various exercises of muscular power, on foot 
1 and in the saddle, he excels all competitors. His admirable phy- 
f sical traits are in perfect accordance with the properties of his 
I mind and heart; and over all, crowning all, is a beautiful, and, 
' in one so young, a strange dignity of manners and of mien, a 
i calm seriousness, a sublime self-control, which at once compels 


j 


4 




GENERAL WASHINGTON. 


the veneration, attracts the confidence, and secures the favor, of 
all who behold him. That youth is the leader whom Heaven is 
preparing to conduct America through her approaching trial. 

As we see him voluntarily relinquishing the enjoyments, and 
luxuries, and ease, of the opulent refinement in which he was 
born and bred, and choosing the perils and hardships of the wil- 
derness; as we follow him, fording swollen streams, climbing 
rugged mountains, breasting the forest storms, wading through 
snow-drifts, sleeping in the open air, living upon the coarse food 
of hunters and of Indians, — we trace, with devout admiration, 
the divinely-appointed education he was receiving to enable him 
to meet and endure the fatigues, exposures, and privations, of the 
war of independence. Soon he is called to a more public sphere 
of action, on the same theatre ; and we again follow him in his 
romantic adventures, as he traversed the far-olf western wil- 
derness, a special messenger to the French commander on the 
Ohio, and afterwards when he led forth the troops of Virginia in 
the same direction, or accompanied the ill-starred Braddock to 
the blood-stained banks of the Monongahela. Everywhere we 
see the hand of God conducting him into danger, that he might 
extract from it the wisdom of an experience not otherwise to be 
attained, and develop those heroic qualities by which alone danger 
and difficulty can be surmounted, — but all the while covering 
him, as with a shield. 

When we think of him, at midnight and in midwinter, thrown 
from a frail raft into the deep and angry waters of a wide and 
rushing western river, thus separated from his only companion 
through the wilderness, with no human aid for miles and leagues 
around him, buffeting its rapid current, and struggling through 
driving cakes of ice ; when we behold the stealthy savage, whose 
aim as against all other marks is unerring, pointing his rifle de- 
liberately at him, and firing over and over again ; when we see 
him riding through showers of bullets on Braddock^s fatal field, 
and reflect that never, during his whole life, was he wounded or 
even touched by a hostile force, — do we not feel that he was 
guarded by an Unseen Hand ? Yes, that sacred person was 
guarded by an Unseen Hand, warding off every danger. No 
peril by flood or by field was permitted to extinguish a life con- 
secrated to the hopes of humanity and to the purposes of Heaven. 
His military preparation was completed by being intrusted with 
the defence of the frontiers of Virginia and the neighboring colo- 
nies — a command which, in the difficulties and embarrassments 
with which it was crowded, in its general character, and more 
especially in the wide-spread and incessant oversight, and fore- 


MATERNAL HEROISM. 


829 


thought, and prudence, and patience it required, most remark- 
ably resembled, was indeed a precise epitome of, the service he 
afterwards discharged as commander-in-chief of the forces of 
United America. 

The warrior is now ready, but the statesman remains to be pre- 
pared. He accordingly resigned his commission, and retired to 
private and civil life. Although not then quite twenty-seven 
years of age, he had won a splendor of reputation, and a com- 
pleteness of experience, as a military man, such as had never 
before been acquired in America. For more than sixteen years 
he rested from his warfare, amid the shades of Mount Vernon, 
ripening his mind by reading and reflection, increasing his kuQw- 
ledge of practical affairs, entering into the whole experience of a 
citizen, at home on his farm, and as a delegate to the colonial As- 
sembly ; and when, at last, the war broke out, and the unanimous 
voice of the Continental Congress invested him, as the exigency 
required, with almost unbounded authority, as their commander- 
in-chief, he blended, although still in the prime of his life, in 
the mature bloom of manhood, the attributes of a sage with 
those of a hero. 

A more perfectly fitted and furnished character has never 
appeared on the theatre of human action, than when, reining 
up his war-horse beneath the majestic and venerable elm, still 
standing at the entrance of the old Watertown road upon Cam- 
bridge Common, George Washington unsheathed his sword, 
and assumed the command of the gathering armies of American 
liberty. Those who had despaired, when they beheld their chief, 
despaired no more. The very aspect of his person and counte- 
nance concurred with the history of his life in impressing their 
hearts with a deep conviction that God was with him, in the 
exercise of a peculiar guardianship, and that in his hands their 
cause was safe. 


MATERNAL HEROISM. 

On the twenty-seventh of January, 1796, a party of Indians 
killed George Mason, on Flat Creek, about twelve miles from 
Knoxville, Tennessee. During the night, he heard a noise at his 
stable, and stepped out to ascertain the cause, and the Indians, 
coming between him and the door, intercepted his return. He 
fled, but was fired upon, and wounded. He reached a cave, a 
quarter of a mile from his house, out of which, already welter- 
ing in his blood, he was dragged and murdered. Having done 
28* 


330 


MATERNAL HEROISM. 


this, they returned to the house, to despatch his wife and chil- 
dren. 

Mrs. Mason, unconscious of the fate of her husband, heard them 
talking to each other as they approached the house. At first, she was 
delighted with the hope that her neighbors, aroused. by the firing, 
had come to her assistance. But perceiving that the conversa- 
tion was neither in English nor German, the language of her 
neighbors, she instantly inferred that they were savages, coming 
to attack the house. 

The heroine had, that very morning, learned how the double 
trigger of a rifle was set. Fortunately, the children were not 
awakened by the firing ; and she took care not to awaken them. 
She shut the door, and barred it with benches and tables, and 
took down the well-charged rifle of her husband. She placed 
herself directly opposite the opening which would be made by 
forcing the door. Pier husband came not, and she was too well 
aware that he was slain. She was alone, in the darkness. 

The yelling savages were without, pressing upon the house. 
She took counsel from her own magnamity, heightened by alfec- 
tion for her children, that were sleeping unconsciously around 
her. The Indians, pushing with great violence, gradually opened 
the door sufficiently wide to attempt an entrance. The body of 
one was thrust into the opening, and just filled it. He was 
struggling for admittance. Two or three more, directly behind 
him, were propelling him forward. She set the trigger of the 
rifle, put the muzzle near the body of the foremost, and in such 
a direction that the ball, after passing through his body, would 
penetrate those behind. She fired. The firet Indian fell. 

The next one uttered the scream of mortal agony. This 
intrepid woman saw the policy of profound silence. She observed 
it. The Indians, in consequence, were led to believe that armed 
men were in the house. They withdrew from the house, took 
three horses from the stable, and set it on fire. It was after- 
wards ascertained that this high-minded widow had saved herself 
and her children from the attack of twenty-five assailants ! 


READING EXERCISES 


ILLUSTRATING THE FIFTH ERA-. 


WASHINGTON’S FAREWELL ADDRESS. 

In lookino^ forward to the moment which is intended to termi- 

i 

I nate the career of my public life, my feelings do not permit me 
i to suspend the deep acknowledgment of that debt of gratitude 
’ which I owe to my beloved country for the many honors it has 
’ conferred upon me ; still more for the steadfast confidence with 
: which it has supported me, and for the opportunities I have thence 
: enjoyed of manifesting my inviolable attachment, by services 
! faithful and persevering, though in usefulness unequal to my zeal. 

If benefits have resulted to our country from these s^ervices, 
let it always be remembered to your praise, as an instructive ex- 
I ample in our annals, that, under circumstances in which the pas- 
sions, agitated in every direction, were liable to mislead, amidst 
appearances somewhat dubious, vicissitudes of fortune often dis- 
couraging, in situations in which not unfrequently want of success 
has countenanced the spirit of criticism, — the constancy of your 
support was the essential prop of the efforts, and the guaranty of 
the plans, by which they were effected. 

Profoundly penetrated with this idea, I shall carry it with me 
to my grave as a strong incitement to unceasing prayers, that 
Heaven may continue to you the choicest tokens of its beneficence; 
that your union and brotherly affection may be perpetual ; that 
the free constitution, which is the work of your hands, may be 
sacredly maintained ; that its administration, in every department, 
may be stamped with wisdom and virtue; that, in fine, the hap- 
piness of the people of these States, under the auspices of liberty, 
may be made complete by so careful a preservation and so prudent 
a use of this blessing as will acquire to them the glory of recom- 
mending it to the applause, the affection, and adoption of every 
nation which is yet a stranger to it. 

Here, perhaps, I ought to stop. But a solicitude for your wel- 

( 331 ) 


332 


WASUINGTON^S FAREWELL ADDRESS. 


fare, which cannot end hut with my life, and the apprehension of 
danger natural to that solicitude urge me, on an occasion like the 
present, to offer to your solemn contemplation, and to recommend 
to your frequent review, some sentiments, which are the result of 
much reflection, of no inconsiderable observation, and which ap- 
pear to me all-important to the permanence of your felicity as a 
people. These will be offered to you with more freedom, as you 
can only see in them the disinterested warnings of a parting friend, 
who can possibly have no motive to bias his counsel. Nor can I 
forget, as an encouragement to it, your indulgent reception of my 
sentiments on a former and not dissimilar occasion. 

Of all the dispositions and habits which lead to political pros- 
perity, religion and morality are indispensable supports. In vain 
would that man claim the tribute of patriotism who should labor 
to subvert these great pillars of human happiness — these firmest 
props of the duties of men and citizens. The mere politician, 
equally with the pious man, ought to respect and cherish them. 
A volume could not trace all their connections with private and 
public felicity. 

Let it simply be asked. Where is the security for property, for 
reputation, for life, if the sense of religious obligation desert the 
oaths, which are the instruments of investigation in courts of jus- 
tice ? And let us with caution indulge the supposition that mor- 
ality can be maintained without religion. Whatever may be con- 
ceded to the influence of refined education on minds of peculiar 
structure, reason and experience both forbid us to expect that 
national morality can prevail, in exclusion of religious principles. 

It is substantially true that virtue or morality is a necessary 
spring of popular government. The rule, indeed, extends with 
more or less force to every species of free government. Who, 
that is a sincere friend to it, can look with indifference upon at- 
tempts to shake the foundation of the fabric ? 

Promote, then, as an object of primary importance, institutions 
for the general diffusion of knowledge. In proportion as the 
structure of a government gives force to public opinion, it is es- 
sential that public opinion should be enlightened. 

Observe good faith and justice towards all nations; cultivate 
peace and harmony with all; religion and morality enjoin this 
conduct; and can it be that good policy does not equally enjoin 
it y It will be worthy of a free, enlightened, and, at no distant 
period, a great nation, to give to mankind the magnanimous and 
too novel example of a people always guided by an •'exalted justice 
and benevolence. 


WASHINGTON^S FAREWELL ADDRESS. 833 


Who conld doubt that, in the course of time and things, the 
fruits of such a plan would richly repay any temporary advan- 
tages which might be lost by a steady adherence to it ? Can it 
be, that Providence has not connected the permanent felicity of a 
nation with its virtue ? The experiment, at least, is recommended 
by every sentiment which ennobles human nature. Alas ! is it 
rendered impossible by its vices ? 

In offering to you, my countrymen, these counsels of an old 
and affectionate friend, I dare not hope they will make the strong 
and lasting impression I could wish; that they will control the 
usual current of the passions, or prevent our nation from running 
the course which has hitherto marked the destiny of empires. 
But if I may even flatter myself that they may be productive of 
some partial benefit, some occasional good; that they may now 
and then recur, to moderate the fury of party spirit, to warn 
against the mischiefs of foreign intrigue, to guard against the 
impostures of pretended patriotism; this hope will be a full re- 
compense for that solicitude for your welfare, by which they have 
been dictated. 

How far, in the discharge of my official duties, I have been 
guided by the p inciples which have been delineated, the public 
records and other evidences of my conduct must witness to you 
and the world. To myself, the assurance of my own conscience 
is, that I have at least believed myself to be guided by them. 

Though, in reviewing the incidents of my administration, I am 
unconscious of intentional error, I am, nevertheless, too sensible 
of my defects not to think it probable that I may have committed 
many errors. Whatever they may be, I fervently beseech the 
Almighty to avert and mitigate the evils to which they may tend. 
I shall also carry with me the hope that my country will never 
cease to view them with indulgence; and that, after forty-five 
years of my life dedicated to its service with an upriglit zeal, the 
faults of incompetent abilities will be consigned to oblivion, as 
myself must soon be to the mansions of rest. 

Belying on its kindness in this, as in other things, and actuated 
by that fervent love towards it, which is so natural to a man who 
views in it the native soil of himself and his progenitors for seve- 
ral generations, I anticipate with pleasing expectation that retreat 
in which I promise myself to realize, without alloy, the sweet 
enjoyment of partaking, in the midst of my fellow citizens, the 
benign influence of good laws under a free government — the ever- 
favorite object of my heart, and the happy reward, as I trust, of 
our mutual cares, labors, and dangers. 


334 


FATE OF THE INDIANS. 


WASHINGTON. ~ 

Great were the hearts, and strong the minds, 
Of those who framed, in high debate. 

The immortal league of love that binds 
Our fair broad empire, state with state. 

And deep the gladness of the hour, 

When, as the auspicious task was done. 

In solemn trust, the sword of power 
Was given to Glory^s unspoiled Son. 

That noble race is gone ; the suns 
Of fifty years have risen and set ; 

But the bright links those chosen ones 
So strongly forged, are brighter yet. 

Wide — as our own free race increase — 

Wide shall extend the elastic chain. 

And bind, in everlasting peace. 

State after State, a mighty train. 


FATE OF THE INDIANS. 

There is, indeed, in the fate of these unfortunate beings much 
to awaken our sympathy, and much to disturb the sobriety of our 
judgment; much which may be urged to excuse their own atro- 
cities; much in their characters which betrays us into an invol- 
untary admiration. What can be more melancholy than their 
history? By a law of their nature they seem destined to a slow 
but sure extinction. Everywhere at the approach of the white 
man they fade away. 

We hear the rustling of their footsteps, like that of withered 
leaves of autumn, and they are gone forever. They pass mourn- 
fully by us, and they return no more. Two centuries ago the 
smoke of their wigwams and the fires of their councils rose in 
every valley, from Hudson’s Bay to the farthest Florida, from the 
ocean to the Mississippi and the lakes. 

The shouts of victory and the war-dance rang through the 
mountains and the glades. The thick arrows and the deadly 
tomahawk whistled through the forests ; and the hunter’s trace 
and the dark encampment startled the wild beasts in their lairs. 
The warriors stood forth in their glory. The young listened to 


FATE OF THE INDIANS. 


335 


the songs of other days. The mothers played with their infants, 
and gazed on the scene with warm hopes of the future. The 
aged sat down, but they wept not. 

They should soon be at rest in fairer regions, where the Great 
Spirit dwelt, in a home prepared for the brave, beyond the west- 
ern skies. Braver men never lived ; truer men never drew the 
bow. They had courage, and fortitude, and sagacity, and perse- 
verance, beyond most of the human race. They shrank from no 
dangers, and they feared no hardships. 

If they had the vices of savage life, they had the virtues also. 
They were true to their country, their friends, and their homes. 
If they forgave not injury, neither did they forget kindness. If 
their vengeance was terrible, their fidelity and generosity were 
unconcjuerable also. Their love, like their hate, stopped not on 
this side of the grave. 

But wheie are they ? Where are the villages, and warriors, 
and youth; the sachems and the tribes; the hunters and their 
families? ^hey have perished. They are consumed. The 
wasting^ pestilence has not alone done the mighty work. I'fo ; 
nor famine,^ nor war. There has been a mightier power, a moral 
canker, which hath eaten into their heart-cores ; a plague "which 
the touch of the white man communicated; a poison^vhich be- 
trayed them into a lingering ruin. 

The winds of the Atlantic fan not a single region which they 
may now call their own. Already, the last feeble remnants of 
the race are preparing for their journey beyond the Mississippi. 
I see them leave their miserable homes, the aged, the helpless, 
the women, and the warriors, ^^few and faint, yet fearless still. 

The ashes are cold on their native hearths. The smoke no 
longer curls round their lowly cabins. They move on with .a 
slow, unsteady step. The white man is upon their heels, for 
terror oi despatch ; but they heed him not. They turn to take 
a last look of their deserted villages. They cast a last glanco 
upon the graves of their fathers. They shed no tears; they 
utter no cries ; they heave no groans. 

There is something in their hearts which passes speech. There 
is something in their looks, not of vengeance or submission, but 
of hard necessity, which stifles both; which chokes all utterance; 
which has no aim or method. It is courage absorbed in despair. 
They linger but for a moment. Their look is onward. They 
have passed the fatal stream. It shall never be repassed by them; 
no, never. Yet there lies not between us and them an impass- 
able gulf. They know and feel, that there is for them still one 
remove farther, nor distant, nor unseen. It is to the general 
burial-ground of the race. 


336 


THE INDIAN EXILE. 


THE INDIAN EXILE. 

I HAVE trod this land for many a year, 

I have loved these hills to roam ; 

The ^ushin^ stream, and the wild-wood near, 
The brook, the vale, and the lakelet clear. 
Were once my childhood’s home. 


I have watched yon sea in days of old. 

Where it kissed an Indian shore; 

I have stemmed its wave in winter’s cold, 

I have marked the spray as its billows rolled, 
And loved its angry roar. 

These aged boughs did once overspread 
The Indian’s last retreat; 

They flung their shade on the dreamless bed, 
Where the strength of youth and the hoary head 
In voiceless union meet. 

’Twas here, through brake and tangled glade, 

We tracked the panting deer ; 
vTw’as in this vale our feasts were made, 

'Twas on this green our prayers were said 
By lips that knew not fear. 


But now the red man’s voice is still 
Where once alone he trod; 

The white man’s steps now mark the hill, 
The opening flower and murmuring rill 
Now praise the white man’s God. 

I seek in vain for any trace 

Of charms that once were here ; 

I meet no form — I mark no face — 

And e’en the name of my native place 
Falls strangely on mine ear. 


But here, where rose our vine-wreathed home. 
My father’s ashes lie ; 

And I, too early taught to roam, 

A time-w'orn, w^earied wanderer, come. 

Lone, desolate, to die. 


TRAPPER LIFE AND LANGUAGE. 837 

TEAPPER LIFE AND LANGUAGE. 

Away to tlie head waters of the Platte, where several small 
streams run into the south fork of that river, and head in the 
broken ridges of the Divide^ ^ which separates the valley of the 
Platte and Arkansas, were camped a band of trappers on a creek 
called Bijou. It was the month of October, when the early frosts 
of the coming winter had crisped and dyed with sober brown the 
leaves of the cherry and quaking ash belting the brooks ; and the 
ridges and peaks of the Eocky Mountains were already covered 
with a glittering mantle of snow, sparkling in the still powerful 
rays of the autumn sun. 

The camp had all the appearance of permanency ; for not only 
did it comprise one or two unusually comfortable shanties, but the 
numerous stages on which huge strips of buffalo meat were 
hanging in process of cure, showed that the party had settled 
themselves here in order to lay in a store of provisions, or, as it 
is termed in the language of the mountains, to make meat.^^ 
Eound the camp fed twelve or fifteen mules and horses, their 
forelegs confined by hobbles of raw hide; and, guarding these 
animals, two men paced backward and forward, driving in the 
stragglers, ascending ever and anon the bluffs which overhung 
the river, and leaning on their long rifles, while they swept with 
their eyes the surrounding prairie. Three or four fires burned 
in the encampment, at some of which Indian women carefully 
tended sundry steaming pots ; while round one, which was in the 
centre of it, four or five stalwart hunters, clad in buckskin, sat 
cross-legged, pipe in mouth. 

They were a trapping party from the north fork of Platte, on 
their way to wintering-ground in the more southern valley of the 
Arkansas ; some, indeed, meditating a more extended trip, even 
to the distant settlements of New Mexico, the paradise of moun- 
taineers. The elder of the company was a tall, gaunt man, with 
a face browned by twenty years^ exposure to the extreme climate 
of the mountains ; his long black hair, as yet scarcely tinged with 
gray, hanging almost to his shoulders, but his cheeks and chin 
clean shaven, after the fashion of the mountain men. His dress 
was the usual hunting-frock of buckskin, with long fringes down 
the seams, with pantaloons similarly ornamented, and moccasins 
of Indian make. While his companions puffed their pipes in 
silence, he narrated a few of his former experiences of western 
life ; and while the buffalo hump-ribs and tender-loin are 
singing away in the pot, preparing for the hunters^ supper, we 

29 


338 TRAPPER LIFE AND LANGUAGE. 

I 

will note down the yarn as it spins from his lips, giving it in the 
language spoken in the far West — 

^Twas about ^ calf-time,’ maybe a little later, and not a hun- 
dred year ago, by a long chalk, that the biggest kind of rendezvous 
was held ^ to’ Independence, a mighty handsome little location 
away up on old Missoura. A pretty smart lot of boys was camp’d : 
thar, about a quarter from the town, and the way the whisky 
flowed that time was ^ some’ now, I can tell you. Thar war old 
Sam Owins — him as got ^ rubbed out’ by the Spaniards at Sacra- 
menty or Chihuahuy, this hos doesn’t know which, but he ^went 
under’ any how. Well, Sam had his train along, ready to hitch 
up for the Mexican country — twenty thunderin’ big Pittsburg 
wagons ; and the way his Santa Fd boys took in the liquor beat 
all— eh. Bill ?” 

Bill Bent — his boys camped the other side the trail, and they 
was all mountain men, wagh ! — and Bill Williams and Bill Tharpe 
(the Pawnees took his hair on Pawnee Fork last spring) : three 
Bills, and them three’s all ^ gone under.’ Surely Hatcher went 
out that time; and wasn’t Bill Garey along, too? Didn’t him 
and Chabonard sit in camp for twenty hours at a deck of Euker ? 
Them was Bent’s Indian traders up on Arkansa. Poor Bill 1 
Bent! them Spaniards made meat of him. He lost his topknot 1 
at Taos. A ‘clever’ man was Bill Bent as / ever know’d trade | 
a robe or ‘ throw’ a bufler in his tracks. Old St. Vrain could i 
knock the hind-sight off him though, when it came to shootin’, . 
and old silver heels spoke true, she did ; ‘ plum-center’ she i 
was, eh?” 

“ The Greasers paid for Bent’s scalp, they tell me. Old St. 
Vrain went out of Santa ¥6 with a company of mountain men, , 
and the way they made ’em sing out was ‘ slick as shooting’. He I 
‘counted a coup,’ did St. Vrain. He throwed a Pueblo as had I 
on poor Bent’s shirt. I guess he tickled that niggur’s hump- i 
ribs. Fort William aint the lodge it was, an’ never will be agin, 
now he’s gone under; but St. Vrain’s ‘pretty much of a gentle- 
man, too ; if he aint. I’ll be dog-done ; eh. Bill ?” 

“ He is soo.” 

“ Chavez had his wagons along. He was only a Spaniard, any 
how, and some of his teamsters put a ball into him his next trip, 
and made a raise of his dollars, wagh ! Uncle Sam hung ’em 
for it, I heard, but can’t b’lieve it, nohow. If them Spaniards 
wasn’t born for shootin’, why was beaver made ? You was with 
us that spree, Jemmy?” 

“No sirrc-e ; I went out when Spiers lost his animals on Cim- 


TRAPPER LIFE AND LANGUAGE. 


839 


maron : a "hundred and forty mules and oxen was froze that night, 
wagh 

‘^Surely Black Harris was thar; and the biggest liar was 
Black Harris. He was the child as saw the putrefied forest in 
the Black Hills. Black Harris come in from Laramie; he^d 
been trapping three year an' more on Platte and the ‘ other side 
and, when he got into Liberty, he fixed himself right off like a 
Saint Louis dandy. Well, he set to dinner one day in the tavern, 
and a lady says to him : — 

^^^Well, Mister Harris, I hear you're a great travler.' 
^^^Travler, marm,' says Black Harris, ^this niggur's no travler; 
I ar a trapper, marm, a mountain-man, wagh!' ^Well, Mister 
Harris, trappers are great travlers, and you goes over a sight of 
ground in your perishinations. I'll be bound to say.' 

^ A sight, marm, this coon's gone over, if that's the way your 
^ stick floats.' I've trapped beaver on Platte and Arkansa, and 
away up on Missoura and Yaller Stone ; I've trapped on Columbia, 
on Lewis Fork, and Green Biver ; I've trapped, marm, on Grand 
Biver and the Heela (Gila). I've font the ^ Blackfoot' ; I've 
raised the ‘ hair' of more tha^i one Apach, and made a Bapaho 
^ come' afore now; I've trapped in heav'n in airth ; and scalp my 
old head, marm, but I've seen a putrified forest.' 

^ La, Mister Harris, a what ?' 

^^^A putrefied forest, marm, as sure as my rifle's got hind- 
sights, and she shoots center. I was out on the Black Hills, Bill 
Sublette knows the time — the year it rained fire — and every body 
knows when that was. If thar wasn't cold doins about that time, 
this child wouldn't say so. The snow was about fifty foot deep, 
and the bufler lay dead on the ground like bees after a beein' ; 
not whar we was tho', for thar was no bufler, and no meat, and 
me and my band had been livin' on our moccasins for six weeks ; 
and poor doins that feedin' is, marm, as you'll never know. One 
day we crossed a ^ canon' and over a ^ divide,' and got into peraira, 
whar was green grass, and green trees, and green leaves on the 
trees, and birds singing in the green leaves, and this in Febrary, 
wagh I Our animals were like to die when they see the green 
grass, and we all sung out, ^ hurraw for summer doins.' 

^ Hyar goes for meat,' says I, and I jest ups old Ginger at 
one of them singing birds, and down come the crittur elegant ; 
its plagy head spinning away from the body, but never stops 
singing, and when I takes up the meat, I finds it stone, wagh ! 
^ Hyar's damp powder and no fire to dry it,' I says, quite sheared. 

^ Fire be dogged,' says old Bube. ^ Hyar's a hos as '11 make 
fire come ; and with that he takes his ax and lets it drive at a 


340 


SCENE IN TRAPPER LIFE. 


cotton wood. Sclir-ii-k — goes the ax agin the tree, and out comes 
a bit of the blade as big as my hand. We looks at the animals, 
and thar they stood shaking over the grass, which Ihn dog-gone 
if it wasnH stone, too. Young Sublette comes up, and he’d been 
clerking down to the fort on Platte, so he know’d something. 
He looks and looks, and scrapes the trees with his butcher knife, 
and snaps the grass like pipe stems, and breaks the leaves a-snap- 
pin’ like Californy shells. 

^ What’s all this, boy ?’ I asks. ^ Putrefactions,’ says he, 
looking smart, ^ putrefactions, or Pm a niggur.’ ‘ La, Mister 
Harris,’ says the lady, ‘ putrefactions ! why, did the leaves, and 
the trees, and the grass, smell badly V ‘ Smell badly, marm 1’ 
says Black Harris, ^ would a dead dog smell if he was froze to 
stone ? No, marm, this child didn’t know what putrefaction was, 
and young Sublette’s varsion wouldn’t ^ shine’ no how, so I chips 
a piece out of a tree and puts it in my trap-sack, and carries it 
in safe to Laramie. Well, old Captain Stewart, (a clever man 
was that, though he was an Englishman), he comes along next 
spring, and a Dutch doctor chap was along too. I shows him the 
piece I chipped out of the tree, and he called it a putrefaction 
too; and so, marm, if that wasn’t a putrefied peraira, what 
was it 


SCENE IN TBAPPEB LIFE. 

When every thing was duly protected, the men set to work to 
spread their beds, those who had not troubled themselves to erect 
a shelter getting under the lee of the piles of packs and saddles ; 
while Killbuck, disdaining even such care of his carcass, threw 
his buffalo robe on the bare ground, declaring his intention to 
take” what was coming at all hazards, and any how.” Selecting 
a high spot, he drew his knife and proceeded to cut drains round 
it to prevent the water running into him as he lay ; then taking 
a single robe he carefully spread it, placing under the end 
farthest from the fire a large stone brought from the creek. 

Having satisfactorily adjusted this pillow, he added another 
robe to the one already laid, and placed over all a Navajo blanket, 
supposed to be impervious to rain. Then he divested himself of 
his pouch and powder-horn, which, with his rifle, he placed in- 
side his bed, and quickly covered up, lest the wet should reach 
them. Having performed these operations to his satisfaction, he 
lighted his pipe by the hissing embers of the half-extinguished 
fire (for by this time the rain poured in torrents), and went the 


SCENE IN TRAPPER LIFE. 


341 


5 rounds of the picketed animals, cautioning the guard round the 
.) camp to keep their eyes skinned, for there would be ^ powder 
burned' before morning/' Then returning to the fire, and kick- 
i ing with his moccasined foot the slumbering ashes, he squatted 
I down before it, and thus soliloquized : — 

Thirty years have I been knocking about these mountains 
( from Missoura's head as far south as the starving Gila. I've 
i trapped a ^ heap,' and many a hundred pack of beaver I've traded 
• in my time, wagh ! What has come of it, and whar's the dollars 
as ought to be in my possibles ? Whar's the ind of this, I say ? 
Is a man to be hunted by Injuns all his days ? Many’s the time 
. I've said I'd strike for Taos and trap aWjuaw, for this child's 
If getting old, and feels like wanting a woman’s face about his lodge 

! for the balance of his days ; but when it comes to caching of the 
old traps. I've the smallest kind of heart, I have. 

' Certain, the old State come across my mind now and again, but 
( who’s thar to remember my old body ? But them diggings get 
I too over crowded nowadays, and it is hard to fetch breath amongst 
I them big bands of corncrackers to Missoura. Beside, it goes 
i against natur to leave bufler meat and feed on hog ; and them 
; white gals are too much like picturs, and a deal too ^ fofa- 
raw' (fanfaron). No; darn the settlements, I say. It won't 
shine, and whar's the dollars ? Howsever, beaver’s ^ bound to 
rise ; human natur can't go on selling beaver a dollar a pound ; 
no, no, that arn't a-going to shine much longer, I know. Them 
was the times when this child first went to the mountains : six 
dollars the plew — old 'un or kitten. Wagh! but it's bound to 
rise, I says agin ; and hyar's a coon knows whar to lay his hand 
on a dozen pack right handy, and then he'll take the Taos trail, 

. wagh 1" 

Thus soliloquizing, Killbuck knocked the ashes from his pipe, 
and placed it in the gayly ornamented case that hung round his 
neck, drew his knife-belt a couple of holes tighter, resumed his 
pouch and powder-horn, took his rifle, which he carefully covered 
with the folds of his Navajo blanket, and striding into the dark- 
ness, cautiously reconnoitered the vicinity of the camp. When 
he returned to the fire he sat himself down as before, but this 
time with his rifle across his lap ; and at intervals his keen gray 
eye glanced piercingly around, particularly toward an old weather- 
beaten, and grizzled mule, who now, old stager as she was, having 
filled her belly, stood lazily over her picket pin, with her head 
bent down and her long ears flapping over her face, her limbs 
gathered under her, and her back arched to throw oflf the rain, 
tottering from side to side as she rested and slept. 

29 * 


342 


SCENE IN TRAPPER LIFE. 


Yep, old gal cried Killbuck to the animal, at the same 
time picking a piece of burnt wood from the fire and throwing it 
at her, at which the mule gathered itself up and cocked her ears 
as she recognised her master’s voice. Yep, old gal ! and keep 
your nose open* ^thar’s brown skin about, Fm thinkin,’ and 
maybe you’ll get ^ roped’ (lasso’d) by a Rapaho, afore mornin’.” 
Again the old trapper settled himself before the fire ; and soon 
his head began to nod, as drowsiness stole over him. Already 
he was in the land of dreams ] revelling among bands of fat 
cow,” or hunting along a stream well peopled with beaver ) with 
no Indian sign” to disturb him, and the merry rendezvous in 
close perspective, and his peltry selling briskly at six dollars the 
plew, and galore of alcohol to ratify the trade. 

Or, perhaps, threading the back trail of his memory, he passed 
rapidly through the perilous vicissitudes of his hard, hard life — 
starving one day, revelling in abundance the next; now beset by 
whooping savages thirsting for his blood, baying his enemies like 
the hunted deer, but with the unflinching courage of a man; 
now, all care thrown aside, secure and forgetful of the past, a 
welcome guest in the hospitable trading fort ; or back, as the trail 
gets fainter, to his childhood’s home in the brown forests of old 
Kentuck, tended and cared for — his only thought to enjoy the 
homminy and johnny cakes of his thrifty mother. Once more, 
in warm and well remembered homespun, he sits on the snake 
fence round the old clearing, and munching his hoe-cake at set 
of sun, listens to the mournful note of the whip-poor-will, or the 
harsh cry of the noisy cat-bird, or watches the agile gambols of 
the squirrels as they chase each other, chattering the while, from 
branch to branch of the lofty tamarisks, wondering how long it 
will be before he will be able to lift his father’s heavy rifle, and 
use it against the tempting game. 

Sleep, however, sat lightly on the eyes of the wary moun- 
taineer, and a snort from the old mule in an instant stretched his 
every nerve. Without a movement of his body, his keen eye 
fixed itself upon the mule, which now stood with head bent 
round, and eyes and ears pointed in one direction, snuffing the 
night air, and snorting with apparent fear. A low sound from 
the wakeful hunter roused the others from their sleep ; and rais- 
ing their bodies from their well-soaked beds, a single word ap- 
prized them of their danger. Injuns !” 

Scarcely was the word out of Killbuck’s lips when, above the 
howling of the furious wind, and the pattering of the rain, a 
hundred savage yells broke suddenly upon their ears from all 
directions round the camp ; a scoro of rifle-shots rattled from the 


SCENE IN TRAPPER LIFE. 


843 


thicket, ?md a cloud of arrows whistled through the air, while a 
j crowd of Indians charged upon the picketed animals, Owgh, 
1 owgh — owgh — owgh — g-h-h.^^ Afoot shouted Killbuck, 
I and the old mule gone at that. On ^em, boys, for old Ken- 
i tuck V’ And he rushed toward his mule, which jumped and 
! snorted, mad with fright, as a naked Indian strove to fasten a 
lariat round her nose, having already cut the rope which fastened 
her to the picket pin. 

I Quit that,^' roared the trapper, as he jumped upon the sav- 
age, and without raising his rifle to his shoulder, made a deliberate 
thrust with the muzzle at his naked breast, striking him full, and 
at the same time pulling the trigger, actually driving the Indian 
two paces backward with the shock, when he fell in a heap, and 
dead. But at the same moment, an Indian, sweeping his club 
round his head, brought it with flital force down upon Killbuck ; 
for a moment the hunter staggered, threw out his arms wildly 
into the air, and fell headlong to the ground. 

Owgh ! owgh, owgh-h-h cried the Hapaho, and, striding 
over the prostrate body, he seized with his left hand the middle 
lock of the trapper’s long hair, and drew his knife round the head 
to separate the scalp from the skull. As he bent over to his 
work, the trapper named La Bonte saw his companion’s peril, 
rushed quick as thought at the Indian, and buried his knife to 
the hilt between his ^shoulders. With a gasping shudder the 
Bapaho fell dead upon the prostrate body of his foe. 

The attack, however, lasted but a few seconds. The dash at 
the animals had been entirely successful, and, driving them before 
them, with loud cries, the Indians disappeared quickly in the 
darkness. Without waiting for daylight, two of the three trappers 
who alone were to be seen, and who had been within the shanties 
at the time of attack, without a moment’s delay commenced pack- 
ing two horses, which, having been fastened to the shanties, had 
escaped the Indians, and placing their squaws upon them, shower- 
ing curses and imprecations on their enemies, left the camp, fear- 
ful of another onset, and resolved to retreat and cache themselves 
until the danger was over. 

Not so La Bonte, who, stout and true, had done his best in the 
fight, and now sought the body of his old comrade, from which, 
before he could examine the wounds, he had first to remove the 
corpse of the Indian he had slain. Killbuck still breathed. He 
liad been stunned; but, revived by the cold rain beating upon his 
face, he soon opened his eyes, and recognised his trusty friend, 
who, sitting down, lifted his head into his lap, and wiped away 
the blood that streamed from the wounded scalp. Is the top- 


344 


SCENE IN TRAPPER LIFE. 


knot gone, boy?^^ asked Killbuck; ^^for my bead feels queersome, 
I tell you/^ Thar’s the Injun as felt like lifting it/’ answered 
the other, kicking the dead body with his foot. ^^Wagh! boy, 
you’ve struck a coup ; so scalp the nigger right off, and then fetch 
me a drink.” 

The m*orning broke clear and cold. With the exception of a 
light cloud which hung over Pike’s Peak, the sky was spotless; 
and a perfect calm had succeeded the boisterous storm of the pre- 
vious night. The creek was swollen and turbid with the rains ; 
and as La Bonte proceeded a little distance down the bank to find 
a passage to the water, he suddenly stopped short, and an invo- 
luntary cry escaped him. Within a few feet of the bank lay the 
body of one of his companions, who had formed the guard at the 
time of the Indians’ attack. It was lying on the face, pierced 
through the chest with an arrow, which was buried to the fea- 
thers, and the scalp torn from the bloody skull. 

Beyond, but all within a hundred yards, lay the three others, 
dead, and similarly mutilated. So certain had been the aim, and 
so close the enemy, that each had died without a struggle, and 
consequently had been unable to alarm the camp. La Bonte, 
with a glance at the bank, saw at once that the wily Indians had 
crept along the creek, the noise of the storm facilitating their 
approach undiscovered, and crawling up the bank, had watched 
their opportunity to shoot simultaneously, the four hunters on 

- Returning to Killbuck, he apprised him of the melancholy fate 
of their companions, and held a council of war as to their proceed- 
ings. The old hunter’s mind was soon made up. First,” said 
he, ^^I get back my old mule; she’s carried me and my traps 
these twelve years, and I aint a goin’ to lose her yet. Second, I 
feel like taking hair, and some Rapahos has to ^ go under ’ for 
this night’s work. Third, We have got to cache the beaver. 
Fourth, We take the Injun trail, wharever it leads.” 

No more daring mountaineer than La Bonte ever trapped a 
beaver, and no counsel could have more exactly tallied with his 
own inclination than the law laid down by old Killbuck. 

Agreed,” was his answer, and forthwith he set about forming 
a cache. In this instance they had not sufficient time to construct 
a regular one, as they contented themselves with securing their 
packs of beaver in buffalo robes, and tying them in the forks of 
several cotton-woods, under which the camp had been made. 
This done, they lit a fire, and cooked some buffalo meat : and, 
while smoking a pipe, carefully cleansed their rifles, and filled 
their horns and pouches with a good store of ammunition. 



THE RECAPTURE. 


345 




THE EECAPTURE. 

A PROMINENT feature in the character of the hunters of the far 
West is their quick determination and resolve in cases of extreme 
difficulty and peril, and their fixedness of purpose, when any plan 
of operations has been laid, requiring bold and instant action in 
carrying out. It is here that they so infinitely surpass the savage 
Indian, in bringing to a successful issue their numerous hostile 
expeditions against the natural foe of the white man in the wild 
and barbarous regions of the West. 

Killbuck and La Bonte were no exceptions to this character- 
istic rule; and before the sun was a hand’s-breath above the 
eastern horizon, the two hunters were running on the trail of the 
victorious Indians. Striking from the creek where the night 
attack was made, they crossed to another, known as Kioway, run- 
ning parallel to Bijou, a few hours^ journey westward, and like- 
wise heading in the ‘‘ divide.^^ Following this to its forks, they 
struck into the upland prairies lying at the foot of the mountains ; 
and crossing to the numerous water-courses which feed the creek 
called “Vermilion or “ Cherry, they pursued the trail over the 
mountain-spurs until it reached a fork of the Boiling Spring. 

The route he had followed, impracticable to pack-animals, had 
saved at least half a day’s journey, and brought them within a 
short distance of the object of their pursuit; for, at the head of 
the gorge, a lofty bluff presenting itself, the hunters ascended to 
the summit, and, looking down, descried at their very feet the 
Indian camp, with their own stolen cavallada feeding quietly 
round. 

“ Wagh exclaimed both the hunters in a breath. And thar’s 
the old gal at that,’^ chuckled Killbuck, as he recognised his old 
grizzled mule making good play at the rich buffalo grass with 
which these mountain valleys abound. 

“ If we don’t make ^ a raise ’ afore long, I wouldn’t say so. 
Thar plans is plain to this child as beaver sign. They’re after 
Yuta hair, as certain as this gun has got hind-sights ; but they 
arn’t a-goin’ to pack them animals after ’em, and have crawled 
like ^ rattlers ’ along this bottom to cache ’em till they come back 
from the Bayou — and maybe they’ll leave half a dozen ^ soldiers ’ 
with ’em.” 

How right the wily trapper was in his conjectures will be shortly 
proved. Meanwhile, with his companion, he descended the bluff, 
and pushing his way into a thicket of dwarf pine and cedar, sat 
down on a log, and drew from an end of the blanket, strapped on 


346 


THE RECAPTURE. 


his shoulder, a portion of a buifalo^s liver, which they both dis- 
cussed, raw, with infinite relish ; eating in lieu of bread (an un- 
known luxury in these parts) sundry strips of dried fat. To have 
kindled a fire would have been dangerous, since it was not impos- 
sible that some of the Indians might leave their camp to hunt, 
when the smoke would at once have betrayed the presence of ene- 
mies. A light was struck, however, for their pipes, and after 
enjoying this true consolation for some time, they laid a blanket 
on the ground, and, side by side, soon fell asleep. 

If Killbuck had been a prophet, or the most prescient of medi- 
cine men,^' he could not have more exactly predicted the move- 
ments in the Indian camp. About three hours before sun-down,^^ 
he rose and shook himself, which movement was sufficient to 
awaken his companion. Telling La Bonte to lie down again and 
rest, he gave him to understand, that he was about to reconnoitre 
the enemy^s camp ; and after carefully examining his rifle, and 
drawing his knife-belt a hole or two tighter, he proceeded on his 
dangerous errand. Ascending the same bluff whence he had first 
discovered the Indian camp, he glanced rapidly around, and made 
himself master of the features of the ground — choosing a ravine 
by which he might approach the camp more closely, and without 
danger of being discovered. This was soon effected ; and in half 
an hour the trapper was lying on his breast on the summit of a 
pine-covered bluff, which overlooked the Indians within easy rifle- 
shot, and so perfectly concealed by the low spreading branches of 
the cedar and arbor-vitm, that not a particle of his person could 
be detected; unless, indeed, his sharp twinkling gray eye con- 
trasted too strongly with the green boughs that covered the rest 
of his face. Moreover, there was no danger of their hitting upon 
his trail, for he had been careful to pick his steps on the rock- 
covered ground, so that not a track of his moccasin was visible. 

Here he lay, still as a carcagien in wait for a deer, only now 
and then shaking the boughs as his body quivered with a sup- 
pressed chuckle, when any movement in the Indian camp caused 
him to laugh inwardly at his (if they had known it) unwelcome 
propinquity. He was not a little surprised, however, to discover 
that the party was much smaller than he had imagined, counting 
only forty warriors; and this assured him that the band had 
divided, one half taking the Yuta trail by the Boiling Spring, the 
otlier (the one before him) taking a longer circuit in order to 
reach the Bayou, and make the attack on the Yuta in a different 
direction. 

The hunter remained in his position until the sun had disap- 
peared behind the ridge; when, taking up their arms, and 


THE RECAPTURE. 


847 


throwing their buffalo robes on their shoulders, the war party of 
j Rapahos, one behind the other, with noiseless step, and silent as 
I the dumb, moved away from the camp. When the last dusky 
I form had disappeared behind a point of rocks which shut in the 
northern end of the little valley or ravine, Killbuck withdrew his 
head from its screen, crawled backwards on his stomach from the 
edge of the bluff, and, rising from the ground, shook and 
stretched himself ; then gave one cautious look around, and im- 
mediately proceeded to rejoin his companion. 

Get up, boy,^' said Killbuck, as soon as he reached him. 

Hyar’s grainin^ to do afore long — and sun^s about down, I^m 
thinking.^^ Ready, old hos/^ answered La Ront4, giving 
himself a shake. What^s the sign like, and how man^^’s the 
lodge Fresh, and five, boy. How do you feel 

froze for scalps. ' Wagh We'll have moon to-night, and as 

soon as she get up, we'll make 'em ‘ come.' " 

Killbuck then described to his companion what he had seen, 
and detailed his plan. This was simply to wait until the moon 
afforded sufficient light, then to approach the Indian camp and 
I charge into it, lift" as much hair" as they could, recover 
I their animals, and start at once to the Bayou and join the friendly 
^ Yutas, warning them of their coming danger. The risk of fall- 
I ing in with either of the Rapaho bands was hardly considered ; 
I to avoid this, they trusted to their own foresight, and the legs of 
9 their mules, should they encounter them. 

\ Between sundown and the rising of the moon, they had leisure 
I to eat their supper, which, as before, consisted of raw buffalo- 
r liver; after discussing which, Killbuck pronounced himself 
L ^heap' better," and ready for fight." 

t In the short interval of almost perfect darkness which pre- 
1 ceded the moonlight, and taking advantage of one of the frequent 
squalls of wind which howl down the narrow gorges of the moun- 
tain, these two determined men, with footsteps noiseless as the 
panther's, crawled to the edge of the little plateau of some hun- 
dred yards square, where the five Indians in charge of the ani- 
mals were seated round the fire, perfectly unconscious of the 
vicinity of danger. Several clumps of cedar bushes dotted the 
small prairie, and among these the well-hobbled mules and horses 
were feeding. These animals, accustomed to the presence of 
whites, would not notice the two hunters as they crept from 
clump to clump nearer to the fire, and also served, even if the 
Indians should be on the watch, to conceal their movements from 
I them. 

This the two men at once perceived ; but old Killbuck knew 

I 


348 


THE RECAPTURE. 


that if he passed within sight or smell of his mule, he would he 
received with a hinny of recognition, which would at once alarm 
the enemy. He therefore first ascertained where his own animal 
was feeding, which, luckily, was at the farther side of the prairie, 
and would not interfere with his proceedings. 

Threading their way among the feeding mules, they approached 
a clump of hushes about forty yards from the spot where the un- 
conscious savages were seated smoking round the fire ; and here 
they awaited, scarcely drawing hreath the while, the moment 
when the moon rose above the mountain into the clear cold sky, 
and gave them light sufficient to make sure their work of bloody 
retribution. Not a pulsation in the hearts of these stern, deter- 
mined men beat higher than its wont ; not the tremor of a nerve 
disturbed their frame. They stood with lips compressed and rifles 
ready, their pistols loosed in their belts, their scalping-knivcs 
handy to their gripe. The lurid glow of the coming moon 
already shot into the sky above the ridge, which stood out in 
bold relief against the light; and the luminary herself just 
peered over the mountain, illuminating its pine-clad summit, 
and throwing its beams on an opposite peak, when Killbuck 
touched his companion's arm, and whispered, ‘‘ Wait for the full 
light, boy.^^ 

At this moment, however, unseen by the trapper, the old 
grizzled mule had gradually approached, as she fed along the 
plateau ; and, when within a few paces of their retreat, a gleam 
of moonshine revealed to the animal the erect form of the two 
whites. Suddenly she stood still and pricked her ears, and 
stretching out her neck and nose, snufied the air. Well she 
knew her old master. Killbuck, with eyes fixed upon the Indians, 
was on the point of giving the signal of attack to his comrade, 
when the shrill hinny of his mule reverberated through the gorge. 
The Indians jumped to their feet and seized their arms, when 
Killbuck, with a loud shout of At ^em, boy rushed from his 
concealment, and with La Bonte by his side, yelling a fierce war- 
whoop, sprung upon the startled savages. 

Panic-struck with the suddenness of the attack, the Indians 
scarcely knew where to run, and for a moment stood huddled to- 
gether like sheep. Down dropped Killbuck on his knee, and 
stretching out his wiping-stick, planted it on the ground at the 
extreme leng-th of his arm. As methodically and as coolly as if 
about to aim at a deer, he raised his rifle to this rest and pulled 
the trigger. At the report an Indian fell forward on his face, at 
the same moment that La Bont4, with equal certainty of aim and 
like effect, discharged his own rifle. 


DEATH OF THE TRAPPER. 


349 


The three surviving Indians, seeing that their assailants were 
but two, and knowing that their guns were empty, came on with 
loud yells. With the left hand grasping a bunch of arrows, and 
holding the bow already bent and arrow fixed, they steadily ad- 
vanced, bending low to the ground to get their objects between 
them and the light, and thus render their aim more certain. 
The trappers, however, did not care to wait for them. Drawing 
their pistols, they charged at once; and although the bows 
twanged, and the three arrows struck their mark, on they rushed, 
discharging their pistols at close quarters. La Bont6 threw his 
empty one at the head of an Indian who was pulling his second 
j arrow to its head at a yard’s distance, drew his knife at the same 
j moment, and made at him. 

i But the Indian broke and ran, followed by his surviving com- 
panion; and as ‘soon as Killbuck could ram home another ball, 
he sent a shot flying after them as they scrambled up the moun- 
tain side, leaving in their fright and hurry their bows and shields 
I on the ground. 

I ■ 

DEATH OF THE TBAPPER. 

The fate of one of the humble characters who have figured in 
! these pages, we must yet tarry a little longer to describe. 

During the past winter, a party of mountaineers, flying from 
overpowering numbers of hostile Sioux, found themselves, one 
; stormy evening, in a wild and dismal caiion near the elevated 
mountain valley called the ^^New Park.” 

The rocky bed of a dry mountain torrent, whose waters were 
■ now locked up at their spring-heads by icy fetters, was the only 
road up which they could make their diflicult way ; for the 
nigged sides of the gorge rose precipitously from the creek, 
scarcely affording a foot-hold to even the active bighorn, which 
occasionally looked down upon the travellers from the lofty sum- 
mit. Logs of pine, uprooted by the hurricanes which sweep 
incessantly through the mountain defiles, and tossed headlong 
from the surrounding ridges, continually obstructed their way ; 

' and huge rocks and boulders, fallen from the heights and block- 
' ing up the bed of the stream, added to the difiiculty, and threat- 
ened them every instant with destruction. 

Toward sundown they reached a point where the canon opened 
out into a little shelving glade or prairie, a few hundred yards in 
extent, the entrance to which was almost hidden by a thicket of 
dwarf pine and cedar. Here they determined to encamp for the 
30 


350 


DEATH OF THE TRAPPER. 


1 


night, in a spot secure from Indians, and, as they imagined, un- 
trodden by the foot of man. 

What, however, was their astonishment, on breaking through 
the cedar-covered entrance, to perceive a solitary horse standing 
motionless in the centre of the prairie. Drawing near, they 
found it to be an old grizzled mustang, or Indian pony, with 
cropped ears and ragged tail (well picked by hungry wolves); 
standing doubled up with cold, and at the very last gasp from 
extreme old age and weakness. Its bones were nearly through 
the stiffened skin, the legs of the animal were gathered under it ; 
while its forlorn-looking head and stretched-out neck hung list- 
lessly downward, almost overbalancing its tottering body. The 
glazed and sunken eye — the protruding and froth-covered tongue 
— the heaving flank and quivering tail — declared its race run ; 
and the driving sleet and snow, and penetrating winter blast, 
scarce made impression upon its callous and worn-out frame. 

One of the band of mountaineers was Marcellin, and a single 
look at the miserable beast was sufiicient for him to recognise the 
once renowned Nez-perce steed of old Bill Williams. That the 
owner himself was not far distant he felt certain ; and, searching 
carefully around, the hunters presently came upon an old camp, 
before which lay, protruding from the snow, the blackened re- 
mains of pine logs. Before these, which had been the fire, and 
leaning with his back against a pine trunk, and his legs crossed 
under him, half covered with snow, reclined the figure of the old 
mountaineer, his snow-capped head bent over his breast. His 
well-known hunting-coat of fringed elk-skin hung stiff and wea- 
ther-stained about him; and his rifle, packs, and traps, were 
strewed around. 

Awe-struck, the trappers approached the body, and found it 
frozen hard as stone, in which state it had probably lain there 
for many days or weeks. A jagged rent in the breast of his 
leather coat, and dark stains about it, showed he had received 
a wound before his death ; but it was impossible to say, whether 
to his hurt, or to sickness, or to the natural decay of age, 
was to be attributed the wretched and solitary end of poor Bill 
Williams. 

A friendly bullet cut short the few remaining hours of the 
trapper’s faithful steed ; and burying, as well as they were able, 
the body of the old mountaineer, the hunters next day left him 
in his lonely grave, in a spot so wild and remote, that it was 
doubtful whether even hungry wolves would discover and disinter 
his attenuated corpse. 


LIBERTY AND UNION. 


351 


GRAVES OF THE PATRIOTS. 

Here rest the great and good ; here they repose 
After their generous toil. A sacred band, 

'I'hey take their sleep together, while the year 
Conies with its early flowers to deck their graves, 

And gathers them again, as winter frowns. 

Theirs is no vulgar sepulchre ; green sods 
Are all their monument; and yet it tells 
A nobler history than pillared piles. 

Or the eternal pyramids. 

They need 

No statue or inscription to reveal 
Their greatness. It is round them ; and the joy 
AVith which their children tread the hallowed ground 
That holds their venerated bones, the peace 
That smiles on all they fought for, and the wealth 
That clothes the land they rescued ; these, though mute. 
As feeling ever is when deepcvst ; these 
Are monuments more lasting than the fanes 
Reared to the kings and demi-gods of old. 


LIBERTY ANI) UNION. 

I CANNOT persuade myself To relinquish this subject, without 
expressing my deep conviction, that, since it respects nothing 
less than “ The Union of the States,'^ it is of most vital and 
essential importance to the public happiness. I profess, sir, in 
my career hitherto, to have kept steadily in view the prosperity 
and honor of the whole country, and the preservation of our 
federal union. It is to that union we owe our safety at home, 
and our consideration and dignity abroad. It is to that union 
that we are chiefly indebted for whatever makes us most proud 
of our country. 

That union we reached only by the discipline of our virtues in 
the severe school of adversity. It had its origin in the necessities 
of disordered finance, prostrate commerce, and ruined credit. 
Under its benign influences, these great interests immediately 
awoke, as from the dead, and sprang forth with newness of life 

Every year of its duration has teemed with fresh proofs of its 
utility and its blessings ; and, although our territory has stretched 
out wider and wider, and our population spread farther and 
farther, they have not outrun its protection or its benefits. It 


352 


LIBERTY AND UNION. 


has been to us a copious fountain of national, social, and personal 
happiness. 

i have not allowed myself to look beyond the union, to soe 
what might lie hidden in the dark recess behind. I have not 
coolly weighed the chances of preserving liberty, when the bonds 
that unite us together shall be broken asunder. I have not ac- 
customed myself to hang over the precipice of disunion, to seo 
whether, with my short sight, I can fathom the depth of the 
abyss below ; nor could I regard him as a safe counsellor in the 
affairs of this government, whose thoughts should be mainly bent 
on considering, not how the union should be best preserved, but 
how tolerable might be the condition of the people when it shall 
be broken up and destroyed. 

While the union lasts, we have high, exciting, gratifying pros- 
pects spread out before us, for us and our children. Beyond that 
1 seek not to penetrate the vail. God grant that, in my day, at 
least, that curtain may not rise, — that on my vision never may be 
opened what lies behind. 

When my eyes shall be turned to behold, for the last time, the 
sun in heaven, may I not see him shining on the broken and dis- 
honored fragments of a once glorious union, — on States dissevered, 
discordant, belligerent, — on a land rent with civil feuds, or 
drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood ! Let their last feeble 
and lingering glance rather behold the gorgeous ensign of the 
republic, now known and honored .throughout the earth, still full 
high advanced ; its arms and trophies streaming in their original 
lustre, not a stripe erased or polluted, not a single star obscured, 
— bearing for its motto, no such miserable interrogatory, as. 

What is all this worth ? Nor those other words of delusion 
and folly, Liberty first, and Union afterward — but every- 

where, spread all over in characters of living light, blazing on all 
its ample folds, as they float over the sea and over the land, and 
in every wind under the whole heavens, that other sentiment, 
dear to every true American heart, — Liberty AND Union, now 
AND FOREVER, ONE AND INSEPARABLE. 


OUR COUNTRY. 


853 


f 




OUR COUNTRY. 

Our Country ! 'tis a glorious land I 

With broad arms stretched from shore to shore, 
The proud Pacific chafes her strand, 

She hears the dark Atlantic roar ; 

And, nurtured on her ample breast, 

How many a goodly prospect lies 
In Nature’s wildest grandeur drest, 

Enamelled with her loveliest dyes. 


Rich prairies, decked with flowers of gold, 
Like sunlit oceans roll afar; 

Broad lakes her azure heaven behold, 
Reflecting clear each trembling star; 
And mighty rivers, mountain-born. 

Go sweeping onward, dark and deep, 
Through forests where the bounding fawn 
Beneath their sheltering branches leap. 


And cradled ’mid her clustering hills. 
Sweet vales in dreamlike beauty hide. 
Where love the air with music fills. 

And calm content and peace abide; 

For plenty here her fullness pours 
In rich profusion o’er the land. 

And sent to seize her generous store, 
There prowls no tyrant’s hireling band. 


Great God ! we thank thee for this home, 
This bounteous birth-land of the free 
Where wanderers from afar may come. 
And breathe the air of liberty I 
Still may her flowers untrampled spring, 
Her harvests wave, her cities rise ; 

And yet, till time shall fold her wing. 
Remain Earth’s loveliest paradise ! 


80 * 


354 


AMERICAN HISTORY. 




AMEKICAN HISTOKY. 

The study of the history of most other nations fills the mind 
with sentiments, not unlike those which the American traveller 
feels, on entering the venerable and lofty cathedral of some proud 
old city of Europe. Its solemn grandeur, its vastness, its 
obscurity, strike awe to the heart. From the richly-painted 
windows, filled with sacred emblems and strange antique forms, 
a dim religious light falls around. A thousand recollections of 
romance, poetry, and legendary story, come thronging in upon 
him. He is surrounded by the tombs of the mighty dead, rich 
with the labors of ancient art, and emblazoned with the pomp of 
heraldry. 

What names does he read upon them ? Those of princes and 
nobles who are now remembered only for their vices ; and of sove- 
reigns, at whose death no tears were shed, and whose memories 
lived not an hour in the affection of their people. There, too, he 
sees other names, long familiar to him for their guilty or am- 
biguous fame. There rest the blood-stained soldier of fortune, 
the orator who was ever the ready apologist of tyranny, — great 
scholars who were the pensioned flatterers of power, — and poets 
who profaned the high gift of genius, to pamper the vices of a 
corrupted court. 

Our own history, on the contrary, like that poetical temple of 
fame, reared by the imagination of Chaucer, and decorated by 
the taste of Pope, is almost exclusively dedicated to the memory 
of the truly great. Or rather, like the Pantheon of Rome, it 
stands in calm and severe beauty amid the ruins of ancient mag- 
nificence, and the toys of modern state.^^ Within, no idle 
ornament encumbers its simplicity. The pure light of heaven 
enters from above, and sheds an equal and serene radiance around. 
As the eye wanders about its extent, it beholds the unadorned 
monuments of brave and good men who have bled or toiled for 
their country, or it rests on votive tablets inscribed with the 
names of the best benefactors of mankind. 

“ Patriots are here, in Freedom's battle slain ; 

Priests, whose long lives were closed without a stain ; 

Bards worthy him who breathed the poet’s mind; 

Founders of arts that dignify mankind ; 

And lovers of our race, whose labors gave 

Their names a memory that defies the grave.” 


AMERICAN HISTORY. 


855 


If Europe has hitherto been wilfully blind to the value of our 
example and the exploits of our sagacity, courage, invention, and 
freedom, the blame must rest with her, and not with America. 
Is it nothing for the universal good of mankind to have carried into 
successful operation a system of self-government, uniting personal 
liberty, freedom of opinion, and equality of rights, with national 
power and dignity, such as had before existed only in the Utopian 
dreams of philosophers? Is it nothing in moral science, to have 
i anticipated in sober reality, numerous plans of reform in civil 
and criminal jurisprudence, which are, but now, received as 

[ plausible theories by the politicians and economists of Europe ? 

Is it nothing to have been able to call forth on every emergency, 
either in war or peace, a body of talents always equal to the diffi- 
culty? Is it nothing to have, in less than half a century, ex- 
ceedingly improved the sciences of political economy, of law, and 
of medicine, with all their auxiliary branches; to have enriched 
human knowledge by the accumulation of a great mass of useful 
facts and observations, and to have augmented the power and the 
comforts of civilized man, by miracles of mechanical invention? 
Is it nothing to have given the world examples of disinterested 
patriotism, of political wisdom, of public virtue, — of learning, 
eloquence, and valor, never exerted, save for some praiseworthy 
end ? 

Land of Liberty ! thy children have no cause to blush for 
thee. What though the arts have reared few monuments among 
us, and scarce a trace of the Muse^s footstep is found in the paths 
of our forests, or along the banks of our rivers ; yet our soil has 
been consecrated by the blood of heroes, and by great and holy 
deeds of peace. Its wide extent has become one vast temple and 
hallowed asylum, sanctified by the prayers and blessings of the 
persecuted of every sect, and the wretched of all nations. 

Land of Refuge ! Land of Benedictions ! Those prayers 
still arise, and they still are heard : May peace be within thy 

i walls, and plenteousness within thy palaces ^^May there be no 
< decay, nor leading into captivity, and no complaining in thy 
i streets “ May truth flourish out of the earth, and righteous- 
f ness look down from heaven 


356 


ODE TO JAMESTOWN. 


ODE TO JAMESTOWN. 


Old cradle of an infant world, 

In which a nestling empire lay. 

Struggling a while, ere she unfurFd 
Her gallant wing and soar'd away ; 

All hail ! thou birth-place of the glowing west, 
Thou seem'st the towering eagle’s ruin’d nest I 

What solemn recollections throng, 

What touching visions rise, 

As, wandering these old stones among, 

I backward turn mine eyes, 

And see the shadows of the dead flit round, 

Like spirits, when the last dead trump shall sound ? 


The wonders of an age combined. 

In one short moment memory supplies; 
They throng upon my waken’d mind. 

As time’s dark curtains rise. 

The volume of a hundred buried years. 
Condensed in one bright sheet, appears. 

I hear the angry ocean rave, 

I see the lonely little barque 
Scudding along the crested wave. 
Freighted like old Noah’s ark, 

As o’er the drowned earth ’twas hurl’d. 
With the forefathers of another world. 


I see a train of exiles stand. 

Amid the desert, desolate. 

The fathers of my native land. 

The daring pioneers of fate. 

Who braved the perils of the sea and earth, 

And gave a boundless empire birth. 

I see the sovereign Indian range 
His woodland empire, free as air; 

I see the gloomy forest change. 

The shadowy earth laid bare ; 

And, where the red man chased the bounding deor, 
The smiling labors of the white appear. 


A VISIT TO MOUNT VERNON. 


357 


I see the haughty warrior gaze 
In wonder or in scorn, 

As the pale-faces sweat to raise 
Their scanty fields of corn, 

"While he, the monarch of the boundless wood, 

By sport, or hair-brainM rapine, wins his food. 

A moment, and the pageant^s gone ; 

The red men are no more ; 

The pale-faced strangers stand alone 
Upon the river’s shore ; 

And the proud wood-king, who their arts disdain'd, 
Finds but a bloody grave where once he reign’d. 

The forest reels beneath the stroke 
’ Of sturdy woodman’s axe ; 

The earth receives the white man’s yoke. 

And pays her willing tax 
Of fruits and flowers, and golden harvest fields, 
And all that nature to blithe labor yields. 

Then growing hamlets rear their heads. 

And gathering crowds expand. 

Far as my fancy’s vision spreads. 

O’er many a boundless land. 

Till what was once a world of savage strife. 

Teems with the richest gifts of social life. 


A yiS^T TO MOUNT VERNON. 

A STEAMBOAT passage of six miles to Alexandria, and a drive 
I of nine miles farther in the same southern direction, over a 
I wretched road, through a thin-soiled, wood-covered country, 

I brought us, in a little less than' three hours from this city, to 
I Mount Vernon. The estate is completely isolated from all other 
! ciiltivation } on the east, by the broad, magnificent Potomac, 
which sweeps partly around it in a south-easterly and then 
; southerly direction; on the west and south-west, by a broken 
i tract of half-grown forest, through which a brooklet has worn a 
i deep and wide gorge on its way to the river. 

The cultivated portion of the estate stretches mainly north 
! and north-west from the mansion, a plain and modest white house 
of goodly size, which stands near the bank of the Potomac, front- 
ing westerly upon the garden and grounds of the estate, around 
which half a dozen humbler dwellings, tenanted by families of 


358 


A VISIT TO MOUNT VERNON. 


black laborers and servants, are scattered with little regard to 
order or symmetry. The estate is now the possession and resi- 
dence of Mrs. John A. Washington, widow of a nephew of Judge 
Bushrod Washington, himself the nephew of General George 
Washington ; so swiftly do the generations of men follow each 
other in their solemn march to the tomb ! 

The original resting-place of the Father of liis Country, and 
the old family sepulchre, is south of the mansion, immediately 
on the bank of the Potomac, though a steep and woody descent 
of over a hundred feet intervenes between it and the water. 
This sepulchre is a mere excavation in the earth, walled over in 
the rudest manner, and looking far more, at its entrance, like a 
li op-kiln or out-door cellar, than a place of rest for the illustrious 
departed. 

But this cemetery is now deserted, and of course dilapidated. 
A new and more fitting mausoleum of brick was constructed in 
1837, south of the garden, and some two or three hundred yards 
southwest of the former, in which the remains of the Washington 
family are now deposited. It is built on ground sloping to the 
south, and the family cemetery is excavated in the hill-side, and 
is entered by an iron door; but in front of this, under the neat 
and appropriate brick structure itself, separated from the outer 
world only by a strong iron railing, rest, side by side, in two mar- 
ble sarcophagi, the ashes of George and Martha Washington. 

These marble inclosures are well executed, though simple, and 
I believe were presented by Mr. T. Struthers, a Philadelphia 
artist, as a token of affectionate reverence and admiration for the 
memory of the great departed. The inscription upon the top 
merely states the name, age, and time of the decease of each re- 
spectively; the death of Mrs. Washington having occurred in 
1801, two years after that of her revered consort; and as her 
age is stated at 71 years, while he did not reach 68, she must 
liave been nearly two years his senior. 

After musing an hour by the sepulchre, we were conducted 
through the garden by a communicative black man, who rejoices 
in the appellation of Bill Smith, and who has been forty years on 
the estate, having come there with Bushrod Washington, soon 
after the decease of the Ex-President. The garden is rich in 
rare and valuable plants ; among them are many planted by the 
hand of the Father of his Country. 

Peaches, pears, lemons, oranges, are thickly surrounded by the 
aloe, myrtle, rose, geranium, &c., as well as by plants whose un- 
familiar names escape me. The burning of an adjoining build- 
ing, a few years since, destroyed some of them ; but the garden 


I 


A VISIT TO MOUNT VERNON. 859 

is probably little changed since its world-renowned master stood in 
Its midst, save in the greater profusion of its contents. Long 
may it continue to people the mind of the visitor with images of 
tiie past, and fitly blend its fragrance with the memory of Wash- 
ington. 

Slowly, pensively, we turned our faces from the rest of the 
mighty dead, to the turmoil of the restless living, from the solemn, 
j sublime repose of Mount Vernon, to the ceaseless intrigues, the 
: petty strifes, the ant-hill bustle of the Federal City. Each has 
I its own atmosphere ^ London and Mecca are not so unlike as 
^they. The silent, enshrouding woods, the gleaming, majestic 
i; river, the bright, benignant sky — it is fitly here, amid the scenes 
he loved and hallowed, that the man whose life and character 
'have redeemed Patriotism and Liberty from the reproach which 
icenturies of designing knavery and hollow profession had cast 
.upon them, now calmly awaits the trump of the Archangel. 

I Who does not rejoice that the original design of removing his 
[ashes to Washington has never been consummated — that th^ lie 
liwhere the pilgrim may reverently approach them, unvexed by 
ithe light laugh of the time-killing worldling — unannoyed by the 
vain or vile scribblings of the thoughtless or the base ? Thus 
may they repose forever ! that the heart of the Patriot may be 
invigorated, the hopes of the Philanthropist strengthened, and 
his aims exalted j the pulse of the American quickened, and his 
Aspirations purified by a visit to Mount Vernon. 

Disturb not his slumber, let Washington sleep, 

, ^Neath the boughs of the willow that over him weep ; 

! Ilis arm is unnerved, but his deeds remain bright. 

As the stars in the dark vaulted heaven at night, 
y Oh ! wake not the hero, his battles are o^er, 

' Let him rest undisturbed on Potomac^s fair shore; 

On the river's green border with rich flowers dressed. 

With the hearts he loved fondly, let Washington rest. 

Awake not his slumbers, tread lightly around ; 

^Tis the grave of a freeman — 'tis liberty's mound ; 

Ihy name is immortal — our freedom is won, — 

Brave sire of Columbia, our own Washington. 

Oh ! wake not the hero, his battles are o'er. 

Let him rest, calmly rest, on his dear native shore ; 

While the stars and the stripes of our country shall wave 
O’er the land that can boast of a Washington's Grave. 


3G0 


AN APPEAL TO SOUTH CAROLINA. 


AN APPEAL TO THE PATRIOTISM OF SOUTH 

CAROLINA. 

Fellow Citizens of my native State ! let me not only ad- 
monish yon, as the first magistrate of our common country, not 
to incur the penalty of its laws, hut use the influence that a father 
would over his children whom he saw rushing to certain ruin. 
In that paternal language, wuth that paternal feeling, let me tell 
you, my countrymen, that you are deluded by men who either are 
deceived themselves or wish to deceive you. Mark under what 
pretences you have been led on to the brink of insurrection and 
treason, on which you stand. 

You were told that this opposition might be peaceably — might 
be constitutionally made — that you might enjoy all the advan- 
tages of the Union, and bear none of its burdens. Eloquent 
appeals to your passions, to your shite pride, to your native cour- 
age, to your sense of real injury, were used to prepare you for 
the period when the mask which concealed the hideous features 
of disunion, should be taken off. It fell, and you were made to 
look with complacency on objects which not long since you would 
have regarded with horror. 

Look back at the acts which have brought you to this state, — 
look forward to the consequences, to which it must inevitably 
lead. Something more is necessary. Contemplate the condition 
of that country of which you still form an important part ? con- 
sider its government, uniting in one bond of common interest and 
general protection, so many different States, giving to all their 
inhabitants the proud title of American citizens — protecting 
their commerce — securing their literature and their arts — facili- 
tating their intercommunication — defending their frontiers — and 
making their name respected in the remotest parts of the earth ! 

Consider the extent of its territory, its increasing and happy 
population, its advance in arts which render life agreeable, and 
the sciences which elevate the mind ! See education spreading 
the lights of religion, humanity, and general information, into 
every cottage in this wide extent of our territories and States ! 
Behold it as the asylum where the wretched and the oppressed 
find refuge and support ! Look on this picture of happiness and 
honor, and say, ^^We, too, are citizens of America; Caro- 
lina is one of these proud States ; her arms have defended, — her 
best blood has cemented this happy Union And then add, if 
you can without horror and remorse, This happy Union we will 
dissolve, — this picture of peace and prosperity we will deface, — 


1 


AN APPEAL TO SOUTH CAROLINA. ^61 

this free intercourse we will interrupt, — these fertile fields we 
will deluge with blood, — the protection of that glorious flag we 
renounce, — the very name of Americans we discard/^ 

And for what, mistaken men ! for what do you throw away 
these inestimable blessings — for what would you exchange your 
share in the advantages and honor of the Union ? For the dream 
of a separate independence, a dream interrupted by bloody conflicts 
with your neighbors, and a vile dependence on a foreign power ? 
If your leaders could succeed in establishing a separation, what 
would be your situation ? Are you united at home, — are you free 
from the apprehensions of civil discord, with all its fearful conse- 
quences ? Do your neighboring republics, every day suffering 
some new revolution, or contending with some new insurrection, 
— do they excite your envy ? 

But the dictates of a high duty oblige me solemnly to announce 
that you cannot succeed. The laws of the United States must 
be executed — I have no discretionary power on the subject — my 
duty is emphatically pronounced in the Constitution. Those who 
told you that you might peaceably prevent their execution, de- 
ceived you — ^they could not have been deceived themselves. They 
know that a forcible opposition could alone prevent the execution 
of the laws, and they know that such opposition must be repelled. 
Their object is disunion; but be not deceived bynames; disunion 
by armed force is treason. 

Are you really ready to incur its guilt ? If you are, on the 
heads of the instigators of the act be the dreadful consequences 
— on their heads be the dishonor ; but on yours may fall the pun- 
ishment — on your unhappy state will inevitably fall all the evils 
of the conflict you force upon the government of your country. 
It cannot accede to the mad project of disunion, of which you 
would be the first victims, — its first magistrate cannot, if he would, 
avoid the performance of his duty, — the consequence must be 
fearful for you, distressing to your fellow-citizens here, and to the 
friends of good government throughout the world. 

Its enemies have beheld our prosperity with a vexation they 
could not conceal — it was a standing refutation of their slavish 
doctrines, and they will point to our discord with the triumph of 
malignant joy. It is yet in your power to disappoint them. 
There is yet time to show that the descendants of the Pinckneys, 
the Sumpters, the Rutledges, and of the thousand other names 
which adorn the pages of your revolutionary history, will not aban- 
don that Union, to support which so many of them fought, and 
bled, and died. 

I adiiu'e you, as you honor their memories — as you love the 

31 


362 La fayette’s last visit to America. 

cause of freedom, to which they dedicated their lives — as you 
prize the peace of your country, the lives of its best citizens, 
and your own fair fame, to retrace your steps. Snatch from the 
archives of your State the disorganizing edict of its convention; 
bid its members to re-assemble and promulgate the decided ex- 
pressions of your will to remain in the path which alone can con- 
duct you to safety, prosperity, and honor — tell them that, com- 
pared to disunion, all other evils are light, because that brings 
with it an accumulation of all — declare that you will never take 
the field unless the star-spangled banner of your country shall 
float over you; that you will not be stigmatized when dead, and 
dishonored and scorned while you live, as the authors of the first 
attack on the Constitution of your country ! 

Its destroyers you cannot be. You may disturb its peace ; you 
may interrupt the course of its prosperity; you may cloud its 
reputation for stability; but its tranquillity will be restored, its 
prosperity will return, and the stain upon its national character 
will be transferred, and remain an eternal blot on the memory of 
those who caused the disorder. 

May the great Ruler of nations grant that the signal blessings 
with which He has favored ours, may not, by the madness of 
party or personal ambition, be disregarded and lost ; and may His 
wise providence bring those who have produced this crisis, to see 
the folly before they feel the misery of civil strife ; and inspire 
a returning veneration for that Union which, if we may dare to 
penetrate His designs. He has chosen as the only means of attain- 
ing the high destinies to which we may reasonably aspire. 


LA FAYETTE’S LAST VISIT TO AMERICA. 

Again, in his old age, La Fayette determined to look on the 
young republic that had escaped the disasters which had over- 
whelmed France. When his plans were made known, our 
government offered to place a national vessel at his disposal ; but 
he declined accepting it, and embarked at Havre in a merchant- 
man, and arrived at New York, August 15, 1824. His reception 
in this country, and triumphal march through it, is one of the 
most remarkable events in the history of the world. Such grati- 
tude and unbounded affection were never before received by a 
man from a foreign nation. 


f 

LA FAYETTE^S LAST VISIT TO AMERICA. 863 

As he passed from Staten Island to New York, the bay was 
covered with gay barges decorated with streamers ; and when the 
beautiful fleet shoved away, the bands struck up, Where can 
one better be, than in the bosom of his family Never did this 
favorite French air seem so appropriate, — not even when the 
shattered Old Guard closed sternly around its Emperor, and sang 
it amid the fire of the enemy’s guns, — as when a free people 
thus chanted it around the venerable La Fayette. 

As he touched the shore, the thunder of cannon shook the city, 
— old soldiers rushed weeping into his arms; and, Welcome 
La Fayette !” waved from every banner, rung from every trumpet, 
and was caught up by every voice, till Welcome, welcome 
rose and fell in deafening shouts from the assembled thousands. 
During the four days he remained in the city, it was one constant 
jubilee; and when he left for Boston, all along his route, the 
people rose to welcome him. 

Fie travelled every night till twelve o’clock, and watch-fires 
were kept burning on the hill-tops, along his line of progress. 
Blazing through the darkness, they outshone the torches that 
heralded him ; whil6 in the distance the"pealing bells from every 
church spire, announced his coming. The same enthusiastic joy 
awaited him at Boston ; and when he returned to New York, the 
city was wilder than ever with excitement. 

In Castle Garden there was a splendid illumination in honor 
of him, — the bridge leading to it was surmounted by a pyramid 
sixty feet high, with a blazing star at the top, from the centre of 
which flashed the name of La Fayette, The planks were covered 
with carpets, and trees and flowers innumerable lined the pas- 
sage. Over the entrance was a triumphal arch of flowers, — huge 
columns arose from the area, supporting arches of flowers, and 
flags, and statues. As he entered the wilderness of beauty, the 
bands struck up, See the Conquering Hero Comes,” and shouts 
shook the edifice to its foundation 

He had scarcely taken his seat in .a splendid marque prepared 
for his reception, when the curtain before the gallery, in front of 
him, lifted, — and there was a beautiful transparency, represent- 
ing La Grange, with its grounds and towers, and beneath it, 
This is his Home.” Nothing could be more touching and atfec- 
tionate than this device ; and as La Fayette’s eye fell upon it, a 
tear was seen to gather there, and his lip to quiver with feeling. 

Thus the people received the people’s friend.” From New 
York he went to Albany and Troy, and one long shout of wel- 
come rolled the length of the Hudson, as he floated up the noble 


8G4 LA FAYETTF/s last visit to AMERICA. 


stream. After visiting other cities, and receiving similar demon- 
strations of gratitude, he turned his steps toward Mount Vernon, 
to visit the tomb of Washington. The thunder of cannon an- 
nounced his arrival at the consecrated ground, calling to his mind 
the time when he had seen that now lifeless chieftain move 
through the tumult of battle. 

Wishing no one to witness his emotions, as he stood beside the 
ashes of his friend, he descended alone into the vault. With tremb- 
ling steps, and uncovered head, he passed down to the tomb. The 
secrets of that meeting of the living with the dead, no one knows ; 
but when the aged veteran came forth again, his face was covered 
with tears. He then took his son and secretary by the hand, and 
led them into the vault. He could not speak, — his bursting 
heart was too full for utterance, and he mutely pointed to the 
coffin of Washington. They knelt reverently beside it, then 
rising threw themselves into La Fayette’s arms, and burst into 
tears. It was a touching scene, there in the silent vault, and 
worthy the noble sleeper. 

Thence he went to Yorktown, and then proceeded south, passed 
through all the principal cities to New Orleans, and thence up the 
jMississippi to Cincinnati and across to Pittsburg. Wherever he 
went the entire nation rose to do him homage. Honor to La 
Fayette,” Welcome to La Fayette, the nation’s guest,” and 
such like exclamations had met him at every step. Flowers were 
strewed along his pathway, — his carriage detached from the 
horses, and drawn by the enthusiastic crowd, along ranks of 
grateful freemen, who rent the heavens with their acclamations. 
Melted to tears by these demonstrations of love, he had moved 
like a father amid his children, scatteilng blessings wherever he 
went. 

One of his last acts in this country was to lay the corner-stone 
of the Bunker Hill Monument. It was fit that he, the last sur- 
vivor of the major-generals of the American Ilevolution, should 
consecrate the first block -in that grand structure. Amid the 
silent attention of fifty thousand spectators, this aged veteran, and 
friend of Washington, wdth uncovered head, performed the im- 
posing ceremonies, and, ‘‘ Long live La Fayette,” swelled up from 
the top of Bunker Hill. 


STARVED ROCK. 


865 


WELCOME TO GENERAL LA FAYETTE. 

Welcome, friend of our fathers, to our shores. Happy are 
our eyes that behold those venerable features. Enjoy a triumph, 
such as never conqueror or monarch enjoyed, — the assurance 
that, throughout America, there is not a bosom which does not 
beat with joy and gratitude at the sound of your name. You 
have already met and saluted, or will soon meet, the few that 
remain, of the ardent patriots, prudent counsellors, and brave 
warriors, with whom you were associated in achieving our liber- 
ties. But you have looked round in vain for the faces of many 
who would have lived years of pleasure on a day like this, with 
their old companion in arms, and brother in peril. 

Lincoln, and Greene, and Knox, and Hamilton, are gone ! 
The heroes of Saratoga and Yorktown, have fallen before the 
only foe they could not meet ! Above all, the first of heroes 
and of men, the friend of your youth, the more than friend of 
his country, rests in the bosom of the soil he redeemed. On 
the banks of his Potomac, he lies in glory and peace. You 
will revisit the hospitable shades of Mount Vernon* but him 
whom you venerated as we did, you will not meet at its door. 
His voice of consolation, which reached you in the Austrian dun- 
geons, cannot now break its silence to bid you welcome to his 
own roof. 

But the grateful children of America will bid you welcome 
in his name. Welcome, thrice welcome to our shores; and 
whithersoever throughout the limits of the continent your course 
shall take you, the ear that hears you shall bless you ; the eye 
that sees you shall bear witness to you; and every tongue 
exclaim with heartfelt joy, Welcome, welcome. La Fayette V* 


STARVED ROCK ; OR, THE LAST OF THE ILLINOIS. 

Starved Rock is the unpoetical name of a singular spot on 
the Illinois river, about eight miles south of Ottawa. It is a 
rock bluff, rising from the margin of the stream to the height of 
more than a hundred feet, and is only separated from the main 
land by a narrow chasm. Its length might probably measure two 
hundred and fifty feet. Its sides are perpendicular, and there is 
only one point where it can be ascended, and that is by a narrow, 
stair-like path. It is covered with many a cone-like evergreen, 
81 * 


366 


STARVED ROCK. 


and in summer encircled by luxuriant «;rape and ivy vines, and 
clusters of richly-colored flowers. It is undoubtedly the most 
(•onspicuous and beautiful pictorial feature of the sluggish and lone 
Illinois, and is associated with the final extinction of the Illinois 
tribe of Indians. The legend, to which 1 listened from the lips 
of a venerable Indian trader, is as follows : 

Many years ago the whole region lying between Lake Michigan 
and the Mississippi was the home and dominion of the Illinois 
Indians. For them alone did the bufl’alo and antelope range over 
its broad prairies ; for them did the finest of rivers roll their wa- 
ters into the lap of Mexico, and bear upon their bosoms the birchen 
canoe, as they sought to capture the wild water-fowl; and for 
tlieni alone did the dense forest, crowding upon those streams, 
shelter tlicir unnumbered denizens. In every direction might be 
seen the smoke of the wigwams curling upward to mingle with 
the sunset clouds, which told them tales of the 8pirit-land. 

Years passed on, and they continued to be at ease in their pos- 
sessions. But the white man from the far east, with the miseries 
that have ever accompanied him on his march of usurpation, be- 
gan to wander into the wilderness, and trouble to the poor red- 
man was the inevitable consequence. The baneful “fire-water,’* 
which was the gift of civilization, created dissensions among the 
savage tribes, until in the process of time, and on account of 
purely imaginary evils, the Fotawattamies from Michigan deter- 
mined to make war upon the Indians of Illinois. Fortune smiled 
upon the oppressors, and the identical rock in question was the 
spot that witnessed the extinction of an aboriginal tribe. 

It was the close of a long siege of cruel warfare, and the after* 
noon of a day in the delightful Indian summer. The sunshine 
threw a mellow haze upon the prairies, and tinged the multitu- 
dinous flowers with deepest gold; while, in the shadow of the 
forest-islands, the doe and her fawn reposed in perfect quietness, 
lulled into a contemporary slumber by the hum of the grasshopper 
and the wild bee. The wilderness world wwe an aspect of a per- 
fect Sabbath. But now, in the twinkling of an eye, the delight- 
ful solitude was broken by the shrill whoop, and dreadful struggle 
of bloody conflict, upon the prairies and in the woods. All over 
the country were seen the dead bodies of the ill-fated Illinois, 
when it was ordered by Providence that the concluding skirmish 
between the hostile parties should take place in the vicinity of 
Starved Rock. 

The Potiiwattamies numbered near three hundred warriors, 
while the Illinois tribe was reduced to about one hundred, who 
were mostly aged chiefs and youthful heroes — the more desperate 


STARVED ROCK. 


367 


warriors having already perished^ and the women and the children 
of the tribe having already been massacred and consumed in their 
wigwams. The battle was most desperate between the unequal 
parties. The Illinois were about to give up for lost, when, in 
their frenzy, they gave a defying shout and retreated to the rocky 
bluff. From this it was an easy matter to keep back their ene- 
mies, but alas ! from that moment they were to endure unthought- 
of suffering, to the delight of their baffled, yet victorious enemies. 

To describe in words the scene that now followed and was pro- 
longed for several days, is utterly impossible. Those stout-hearted 
Indians, in whom a nation was about to become extinct, chose to 
die upon their strange fortress by starvation and thirst, rather than 
surrender themselves to the scalping-knife of their exterminators. 
And, with a few exceptions, this was the manner in which they 
did perish. Now and then, indeed, a desperate man would lower 
himself, hoping thereby to escape, but a tomahawk would cleave 
his brain before he touched the water. 

Day followed day, and those helpless captives sat in silence 
and gazed imploringly upon their broad and beautiful lands, while 
hunger was gnawing into their very vitals. Night followed night, 
and they looked upon the silent stars and toward the home of the 
Great Spirit, but they murmured not at His decree. And if they 
slept, in their dreams they once more played with their little chil- 
dren, or roamed the woods and prairies in perfect freedom. When 
morning dawned, it was but the harbinger of another day of 
agony ; but when the evening hour came, a smile would sometimes 
brighten up a haggard countenance, for the poor unhappy soul, 
through the eye of an obscure faith, had caught a glimpse of the 
Spirit-Land. 

Day followed day, and the last lingering hope was abandoned. 
Their destiny was sealed, and no change for good could possibly 
take place, for the human blood-hounds that watched their prey 
were utterly without mercy. The feeble white-haired chief crept 
into a thicket and breathed his last. The recently strong warrior, 
uttering a protracted but feeble yell of exultation, hurled his 
tomahawk on some fiend below, and then yielded himself up to 
the pains of his condition. The blithe form of the soft-eyed 
youth parted with its strength, and was compelled to totter and 
fall upon the earth and die. Ten weary, weary days passed on, 
and the strongest man and the last of his race was numbered with 
the dead. 


368 


THE INDIAN HUNTER. 


Hollow ye the lonely ^rave, 

Make its caverns deep and wide; 

In the soil they died to save, 

Lay the brave men side by side. 

Side by side they fought and fell, 
Hand by hand they met the foe; 

Who has heard his grandsire tell 
Braver strife or deadlier blow ? 

Wake your mournful harmonies, 

Your tears of pity shed for them ; 

Summer dew ana sighing breeze 
Shall be wail and requiem. 

Pile the grave-mound broad and high, 
Where the martyrM brethren sleep: 

It shall point the pilgrim^s eye 
Here to bend, and here to weep. 


THE INDIAN HUNTER. 

Oh ! why does the white man follow my path, 

Like the hound on the tiger’s track? 

Does the flush on my dark cheek waken his wrath,— 
Does he covet the bow at my back ? 

He has rivers and seas, where the billows and breeze 
Bear riches for him alone ; 

And the sons of the wood never plunge in the flood. 
Which the white man calls his own. 

W’^hy, then, should he come to the streams where none 
But the red man dares to swim ? 

Why, why should he wrong the hunter — one 
Who never did harm to him ? 

The Father above thought fit to give 
The white man corn and wine; 

There are golden fields where he may live, 

But the forest shades are mine. 

The eagle hath its place of rest ; 

The wild horse where to dwell ; 

And the Spirit that gave the bird its nest 
Made me a home as well. 

Then back ! go back from the red man’s track ; 

For the hunter’s eyes grow dim. 

To find that the white man wrongs the one 
Who never did harm to him. 


ESCAPE OP COETER. 


369 


ESCAPE OF COLTEE. 

« 

Colter came to St. Louis in May, 1810, in a small canoe, 
from the head waters of the Missouri, a distance of three thou- 
sand miles, which he traversed in thirty days. I saw him on his 
arrival, and received from him an account of his adventures, 
after he had separated from Lewis and Clark’s party. One of 
those, for its singularity, I shall relate. 

On the arrival of the party at the head waters of the Missouri, 
Colter, observing an appearance of an abundance of beavers 
being there, obtained permission to remain and hunt for some 
time, which he did, in company with a man of the name of Dixon, 
who had traversed the immense tract of country, from the St. 
Louis to the head waters of the Missouri, alone. Soon afterward 
he separated from Dixon, and trapped in company with a hunter 
named Potts; and, aware of the hostility of the Blackfoot In- 
dians — one of whom had been killed by Lewis — they set their 
traps at night and took them up early in the morning, remaining 
concealed during the day. They were examining their traps 
early one morning, in a creek about six miles from that branch 
of the Missouri now called Jefferson’s Fork, and were ascending 
in a canoe, when they suddenly heard a great noise, resembling 
the trampling of animals ; but they could not ascertain the fact, 
as the high perpendicular banks on each side of the river im- 
peded their view. Colter immediately pronounced it to be occa- 
sioned by Indians, and advised an immediate retreat, but was 
accused of cowardice by Potts, who insisted that the noise was 
caused by buffaloes, and they proceeded on. 

In a few minutes afterward their doubts were removed by a 
party of Indians making their appearance on both sides of the 
creek, to the amount of five or six hundred, who beckoned them 
to come ashore. As retreat was now impossible. Colter turned 
the head of the canoe, and, at the moment of its touching, an 
Indian seized the lifle belonging to Potts ; but Colter, who is a 
remarkably strong man, retook it immediately, and handed it to 
Potts, who remained in the canoe, and, on receiving it, pushed 
off into the river. He had scarcely quitted the shore, when an 
arrow was shot at him, and he cried out, Colter, I am wounded !” 
Colter remonstrated with him on the folly of attempting to escape, 
and urged him to come on shore. Instead of complying, he in- 
stantly levelled his rifle at the Indian, and shot him dead on the 
spot. This conduct, situated as he was, may appear to have been 
an act of madness ; but it was, doubtless, the effect of sudden, but 


870 


ESCAPE OF COLTER. 


sound reasoning ; for, if taken alive, he must have expected to be 
tortured to death, according to their custom. He was instantly 
pierced with arrows so numerous, that, to use Colter's words, 

he was made a riddle of.'' They now seized Colter, stripped 
him entirely naked, and began to consult on the manner he should 
be put to death. 

They were first inclined to set him up as a mark to shoot at ; 
but the chief interfered, and, seizing him by the shoulder, asked 
him if he could run fast. Colter, who had been some time among 
the Keekatso, or Crow Indians, had, in a considerable degree, 
acquired the Blackfoot language, and was also well acquainted 
with Indian customs. He knew that he had now to run for his 
life, with the dreadful odds of five or six hundred against him, 
and those armed Indians ; he, therefore, cunningly replied, that 
he was a very bad runner, although he was considered by the 
hunters as remarkably swift. The chief commanded the party 
to remain stationary ; and he led Colter out on the prairie, three 
or four hundred yards, and released him, bidding him save him- 
self if he could. 

At this instant, the warwhoop sounded in the ears of poor 
Colter ; who, urged with the hope of preserving his life, ran with 
a speed at which himself was surprised. He proceeded toward 
the Jefferson Fork, having to traverse a plain six miles in breadth, 
abounding with prickly pear, on which he was every instant tread- 
ing with his naked feet. He ran nearly half way across the plain, 
before he ventured to look over his shoulder ; when he perceived 
the Indians were very much scattered, and that he gained ground 
to a considerable distance from the main body : but one Indian, 
who carried a spear, was much before all the rest, and not more 
than ninety or one hundred yards from him. A faint gleam of 
hope now cheered the heart of Colter. He derived confidence 
from the belief that escape was within the bounds of possibility; 
but that confidence was nearlv fatal to him ; for he exerted him- 
self to such a degree, that the blood gushed from his nostrils, and 
soon almost covered the forepart of his body. 

He had now arrived within a mile of the river, when he dis- 
tinctly heard the appalling sound of footsteps behind him, and 
every instant expected to feel the spear of his pursuer. Again 
he turned his head, and saw the savage not twenty yards from 
him. Determined, if possible, to avoid the expected blow, he 
suddenly stopped, turned round, and spread out his arms. The 
Indian, surprised by the suddenness of the action, and, perhaps, 
by the bloody appearance of Colter, also attempted to stop. But, 
exhausted with running, he fell while endeavoring to throw his 


ESCAPE OF COLTER. 


371 


spear, whicli struck in the ground and broke. Colter instantly 
snatched up the pointed part, with which he pinned him to the 
ecyth, and then continued his flight. The foremost of the In- 
dians, on arriving at the place, stopped till others came up to 
join them • when they set up a hideous yell. Every moment 
of time was improved by Colter, who, although fainting and ex- 
hausted, succeeded in gaining the skirting of the cotton-wood 
trees on the borders of the Fork. Through this he pushed and 
plunged into the river. 

Fortunately for him, a little below this place there was an 
island, against the upper end of which a raft of drift timber had 
lodged. He dived under the raft, and, after several efforts, got 
his head above the water among the trunks of the trees, covered 
over with smaller wood to the depth of several feet. Scarcely 
had he secreted himself, when the Indians arrived on the river, 

screeching and yelling,'^ as Colter expressed it, like so many 
devils. They were frequently on the raft during the day, and 
were seen through the chinks by Colter, who was congratulating 
himself on his escape, until the idea arose that they might set 
the raft on fire. In horrible suspense he remained until night ; 
when, hearing no more of the Indians, he dived a second time 
under the raft, and swam silently down the stream to a conside- 
rable distance, where he landed, and travelled all night. 

Although happy in having escaped from the savages, his situa- 
tion was still dreadful : he was completely naked ; the soles of 
his feet were stuck full with spines of the prickly pear (opuntia ) ; 
he was hungry, and had no means of killing game, though tanta- 
lized with plenty around him ; and was at least seven days’ jour- 
ney from Lisa’s Fort, on the Big Horn branch of the Bocke 
Jaune river. These were circumstances under which almost any 
man but an American hunter, would have sunk in despair. And 
yet he arrived at the fort in seven days ; having subsisted on a 
root, much esteemed by the Indians of the Missouri, and now 
known to naturalists as psoraisa esculata. And here we end the 
perilous tale. 


372 


EULOGY ON CLAY. 


EULOGY ON CLAY. 

Again has an impressive warning come to teach us that in the 
midst of life we are in death. The ordinary labors of this hall 
are suspended, and its contentions hushed, before the power of 
Him who says to the storm of human passions, as He said of old 
to the waves of Galilee, Peace, be still/' The lessons of His 
providence, severe as they may be, often become merciful dis- 
pensations, like that which is now spreading sorrow through the 
land, and which is reminding us that we have higher duties to 
fulfil, and graver responsibilities to encounter, than those that 
meet us here, when we lay our hands upon His Holy Word, and 
invoke His holy name, promising to be faithful to that Constitu- 
tion which He gave us in His mercy, and will withdraw only in 
the hour of our blindness and disobedience, and of His own 
wrath. 

Another great man has fallen in our land, ripe indeed in years 
and in honors, but never dearer to the American people than when 
called from the theatre of his services and renown to that final 
bar where the lofty and the lowly must all meet at last. I do not 
rise upon this mournful occasion to indulge in the language of the 
panegyric. My regard for the memory of the dead, and for the 
obligations of the living world, equally rebuke such a course. 
The severity of truth is at once our proper duty and our best 
consolation. Born during the Bevolutionary struggle, our 
deceased associate was one of the few remaining public men who 
connect the present generation with the actors in the trying 
scenes of that eventful period, and whose names and deeds will 
soon be known only in the history of their country. 

He was another illustration, and a noble one, too, of the glorious 
equality of our institutions, which freely offer all their rewards to 
all who justly seek them, for he was the architect of his own 
fortune, having made his way in life by self-exertion, and he w?s 
an early adventurer in the great forest of the West, then a world 
of primitive vegetation, but now the abode of intelligence and 
religion, of prosperity and civilization. ; 

But he possessed that intellectual superiority which overcomes i 
surrounding obstacles, and which local seclusion cannot long 
withhold from general knowledge and appreciation. It is almost 
half a century since he passed through Chilicothe, then the seat 
of government of Ohio, where I was a member of the Legis- 
lature, on his way to take his place in this very body, which is 
now listening to this reminiscence, and to a feeble tribute of 


373 




EULOGY ON CLAY. 

regard from one who then saw him for the first time, but who can 
never forget the impression he produced by the charms of his 
conversation, the frankness of his manner, and the high qualities 
with which he was endowed. 

Since then he has belonged to his country, and has taken a 
part, and a prominent part, both in peace and war, in all the 
great questions affecting her interests and her honor ; and though 
it has been often my fortune to differ from him, yet I believe he 
was as pure a patriot as ever participated in the councils of a 
nation — anxious for the public good, and seeking to attain it, 
during all the vicissitudes of a long and active life. That ho 
exercised a powerful influence within the sphere of his action, 
through the whole country, indeed we all feel and know; and we 
know, too, the eminent endowments which gave him this high 
distinction. 

Frank and fearless in the expression of his opinions, and in 
the performance of his duties, with rare powers of eloquence, 
which never failed to rivet the attention of his auditory, and 
which always commanded admiration, even when they did not 
carry conviction ; prompt in decision, and firm in action, and with 
a vigorous intellect, trained in the contest of a stirring life, and 
strengthened by enlarged experience and observation, joined 
withal to an ardent love of country and to great purity of pur- 
pose — these were the elements of his power and success. And 
we dwell upon them with mournful gratification now, when we 
shall soon follow him to the cold and silent tomb, where we shall 
commit earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, with the 
blessed conviction of the truth of that divine revelation which 
teaches us that there is life and hope beyond the narrow house 
where we shall leave him alone to the mercy of his God and ours. 

He has passed beyond the reach of human praise or censure, 
but the judgment of his cotemporaries has preceded and pro- 
nounced the judgment of history, and his name and fame will 
shed lustre upon his country, and will be proudly cherished in 
the hearts of his countrymen for long ages to come. Yes, they 
will be cherished and freshly remembered when these marble 
columns that surround us — so often the witnesses of his triumph, 
but in a few brief hours, when his mortal frame, despoiled of the 
immortal spirit, shall rest under this dome for the last time, to 
become the witnesses of his defeat in that final contest where the 
mightiest fall before the great destroyer — when these marble 
cohimns shall themselves have fallen — like all the works of man 
— leaving their broken fragments to tell the story of former mag- 
nificence, amid the very ruins that announce decay and desolation. 


374 


FULTON AND THE FIRST STEAMBOAT. 


I was often with him during his last illness, when the world, 
and the things of the world, were fast fading away before him. 
He knew that the silver cord was almost loosened, and that the 
golden bowl was breaking at the fountain ; but he was resigned 
to the will of Providence, feeling that He who gave has the right 
to take away in His own good time and manner. After his duty 
to his Creator and his anxiety for his family, his first care was for 
his country, and his first wish for the preservation and perpetua- 
tion of the Constitution and the Union, dear to him in the hour 
of death as they had ever been in the vigor of life — of that Con- 
stitution and Union, whose defence in the last and greatest crisis 
of their peril, had called forth all his energies, and had stimulated 
those memorable and powerful exertions, which he who witnessed 
can never forget, and which, no doubt, hastened the final catas- 
trophe that a nation now deplores, with a sincerity and unanimity 
not less honorable to themselves than to the memory of the object 
of their affections. 

And when we shall enter that narrow valley, through which 
he has passed before us, and which leads to the judgment-seat of 
God, may we be able to say, through faith in his Son, our Saviour, 
and in the beautiful language of the hymn of the dying Christian 
— dying, but ever living and triumphant : 

The world recedes, it disappears I 
Heaven opens on my eyes! My ears 
With sounds seraphic ring; 

Lend, lend your wings I I mount, I fly I 
0 grave, where is thy victory ? 

0 death, where is thy sting? 

Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be 
like his. 


FULTON AND THE FIRST STEAMBOAT. 

When,^' said Mr. Fulton, was building my first steam- 
boat at New York, the project was viewed by the public either 
with indifference or contempt, as a visionary scheme. My 
friends, indeed, were civil, but they were shy. They listened 
with patience to my explanations, but with a settled cast of in- 
credulity on their countenances. I felt the full force of the lamen- 
tation of the poet, 

“ ‘ Truths would you teach, to save a sinking land ; 

All fear, none aid you, and few understand.^' \ 


FULTON AND THE FIRST STEAMBOAT. 375 

As I had occasion to pass daily to and from the building- 
yard, while rny boat was in progress, I have often loitered 
unknown near the idle groups of strangers, gathering in little 
circles, and heard various inquiries as to the object of this new 
vehicle. The language was uniformly that of scorn, or sneer, or 
ridicule. The loud laugh often rose at my expense ; the dry jest; 
the wise calculation of the Fulton folly. Never did a single en- 
couraging remark, a bright hope or a warm wish cross my path. 
Silence itself was but politeness veiling its doubts, or hiding its 
reproaches. 

^^At length the day arrived when the experiment was to be 
put into operation. To me it was a most trying and interesting 
occasion. I invited many friends to go on board to witness the 
first successful trip. Many of them did me the favor to attend, 
as a matter of personal respect ; but it was manifest that they 
did it with reluctance, fearing to be the partners of my mortifi- 
j^cation, and not of my triumph. I was well aware, that in my 
case there were many reasons to doubt of my own success. The 
machinery was new and ill-made ; many parts of it were con- 
structed by mechanics unaccustomed to such work ; and unex- 
pected difficulties might reasonably be presumed to present them- 
selves from other causes. 

The moment arrived in which the word was to be given for 
the vessel to move. My friends were in groups on the deck. 
There was anxiety, mixed with fear, among them. They were 
silent, and sad, and weary. I read in their looks nothing but 
disaster, and almost repented of my efforts. The signal was 
given, the boat moved a short distance, and stopped, and became 
immovable. To the silence of the preceding moment, now suc- 
ceeded murmurs of discontent, and agitations, and whispers, and 
shrugs. 

I could hear distinctly repeated, told you it would be so — 
it is a foolish scheme — I wish we were well out of it.^ I elevated 
myself upon a platform, and addressed the assembly. I stated 
that I knew not what was the matter ; but if they would be quiet, 
and indulge me for half an hour, I would either go on, or abandon 
the voyage for that time. This short respite was conceded without 
objection. I went below, examined the machinery, and dis- 
covered that the cause was a slight misadjustment of some of the 
work. 

In a short period it was obviated. The boat was put again 
in motion. She continued to move on. All were still incredulous. 
None seemed willing to trust the evidence of tlieir own senses. 
We left the fair city of New York; we passed through the 


876 


THE RAIL-CAR. 


romantic and ever- varying scenery of the Highlands ; we descried 
the clustering houses of Albany; we reached its shores; and 
then, even then, when all seemed achieved, I was the victim of 
disappointment. Imagination superseded the influence of fact. 
It was then doubted if it could be done again ; it was doubted if 
it could be made of any great value.^^ 

Such was the history of the first experiment, as it fell, not in 
the very language which I have used, but in its substance, from 
the lips of the Inventor. He did not live to enjoy the full glory 
of his invention. It is mournful to say, that attempts were made 
to rob him in the first place of the merits of his invention, and 
next of its fruits. He fell a victim to his efforts to sustain liis 
title to both. When already his invention had covered the 
waters of the Hudson, he seemed little satisfied with the results, 
and looked forward to far more extensive operations. My ulti- 
mate triumph,'^ he used to say, will be on the Mississippi. I 
know indeed that even now it is deemed impossible, by many, 
that the difficulties of its navigation can be overcome. But I am 
confident of success. I may not live to see it; but the Mississippi 
will yet be covered by steamboats ; and thus an entire change be 
wrought in the course of the internal navigation and commerce 
of our country.'' 


THE RAIL-CAR. 

Would you like the luxury of a new sensation ? Take your 
stand six feet from a railroad track, in the night, and await the 
passage of the express train. There is no wind stirring. Clouds 
close in the light of the stars. The hum of life has ceased. 
Blackness and silence brood together upon the face of the earth. 
Afar off the listening ear catches a dawning roar. Half heard 
and half felt, it grows into more distinctness — partly revealed 
by the trembling of the solid earth, and partly felt as a shapeless 
horror filling the air. Every second swells its awful volume and 
deepens its terror. 

The earth now quakes under its tread ; a blazing glare, as from 
the eyes of hell, flashes livid horror into the surrounding air; 
and you see crawling along in snaky track, with fiery head 
crouched to the ground, and its long train swinging from side to 
side with a wavy motion, a gigantic and terror-breathing monster, 
instinct with life and power, crushing the earth with its tread, 


GENERAL TAYLOR. 


377 


and creating a whirlwind with its blasting breath, as it sweeps 
along. 

Is there any thing in the world which impresses the mind with 
' a profounder sense of resistless power than that enormous mass, 
with its blazing eyes and smoky breath, rushing with the speed 
of a cannon-ball, and startling air and earth with the overwhelm- 
ing horror of its flight? What would the savage think, seeing 
it for the first time ? Imagine such a flight across the country 
fifty years ago, unheralded by any rumor of its coming, revealing 
its existence by its presence, and rushing suddenly into oblivion, 
as it now rushes into the darkness, while you gaze upon the spot 
where it disappeared, and hear only the faint echo of its dis- 
tant tread. What rumors of it would fill the world ! What 
tales of its grandeur, of its speed and power, would startle the 
credulity of the remotest village gossip ! 


GENEKAL TAYLOR. 

A man has fallen. I do not mean a mere male, human indi- 
vidual. I speak of that which God meant when He said, Let 
us make man in our image, after our likeness. Marred sadly, 
now, by the concussion of that fearful fall ; but capable of resto- 
ration through the Cross, and justifying well, in the renewal of 
its fair proportions, and its countenance erect, the sacred record, 
God hath made man upright.^' A man, that has a mind, and 
uses it. A man, that has a heart, and yields to it. A man, that 
shapes his circumstances. A man, that cares not for himself. 
A man, with the simplicity of a child. A man, with the direct- 
ness of a child. A man, with the freshness and earnestness of a 
child. 

A man, in justice. A man, in generosity. A man, in mag- 
nanimity. A man, to meet emergencies. A man, to make occa- 
sions. A man, to dare, not only, but to bear. A man, of love. 
A man, without a fear. A thunderbolt, in war. A dew-drop, 
in the day of peace. One that, against the fearful odds of five 
to one, could sway the battle-storm at Buena Vista. And then, 
from the very arms and lap of victory, write to one, whose gallant 
son had died to make its crown, When I miss his familiar face, 
I can say, with truth, that I feel no exultation in our success. 
Truly a man has fallen in Israel.’^ 

And a great mon’^ has fallen. A great man, first, must be 
And, then, must find, or make, the occasion to be great. 
32 * 


a man. 


578 


GENERAL TAYLOR. 

In every man, that a man, there is, potentially, a great man. 
lie who has fallen, this day, in Israel,'^ was great, in act. His 
masterly defence of Fort Harrison, when but a captain in the 
service, where the terrors of impending conflagration were added 
to the midnight onslaught of the Indians ; his successful conduct 
of the war in Florida, against the same subtle, tireless, unre- 
lenting foe ; the gallant movement to Point Isabel, and back to 
the encampment of Fort Brown, achieving Palo Alto and Besaca 
de la Palma, as mere episodes, along the way ; the storming and 
complete possession of Monterey, where every street was barri- 
caded, and every house-top bristled with musketry ; the crowning 
victory, against such fearful odds, at Buena Vista; and, more 
than that, the clear, calm, quiet, unpretending, but indomitable, 
answer to Santa Anna’s insolent demand, sustained by twenty 
thousand men — Sir, in reply to your note of this date, sum- 
moning me to surrender my forces at discretion, I beg leave to 
say, that I decline acceding to your request;” these glorious, but 
now painful, reminiscences of the military career of him beside 
whose grave a nation weeps, assures us that in him a great man 
has been taken from our Israel. 

And more illustrious even than in these, the greatness that 
knew how to bear such victories; the greatness, that preserved 
its equilibrium in the storm of national applause and universal 
admiration ; the greatness, that could see the proudest palm of 
human power planted before it within easiest reach, and not put 
forth a hand to pluck it; the ^greatness, that submitted to be 
made the President of these United States, since so the people 
willed; the greatness, that went on to Washington, and took the 
chair of state and filled it with the simple dignity that had di- 
rected, from a tent, the ordering of the battle-field; the great- 
ness of moderation ; the greatness of modesty ; the greatness of 
self-conquest and control ; these do but wound our bleeding hearts 
more deeply, while they swell them with a fuller, higher admira- 
tion of the real greatness of the great man who has gone from 
us to-day. 


THE SONG OF STEAM. 


379 


THE SONG OF STEAM. 

Harness me down with your iron bands ; 

Be sure of your curb and rein : 

For I scorn the power of your puny hands, 

As the tempest scorns a chain ! 

How I laughM, as I lay conceaFd from sight, 
For many a countless hour. 

At the childish boast of human might, 

And the pride of human power! 

When I saw an army upon the land, 

A navy upon the seas, 

Creeping along, a snail-like band. 

Or w'aiting the wayward breeze ; 

When I markM the peasant fairly reel 
With the toil which he faintly bore. 

As he feebly turnM the tardy wheel. 

Or tugg'd at the weary oar : 

When I measured the panting courser's speed. 
The flight of the courier-dove, 

As they bore the Law a king decreed. 

Or the lines of impatient love — 

I could not but think how the world would feel, 
As these were outstripp'd afar. 

When I should be bound to the rushing keel. 

Or chain'd to the flying car ! 


I blow the bellows, I forge the steel. 

In all the shops of trade ; 

I hammer the ore and turn the wheel 
Where my arms of strength are made. 

I manage the furnace, the mill, the mint — 
I carry, I spin, I weave ; 

And all my doings I put into print 
On every Saturday eve. 


I've no mucles to weary, no breast to decay, 
No bones to be “ laid on the shelf," 

And soon I intend you may “ go and play," 
While I manage this world myself. 

But harness me down with your iron bands. 
Be sure of your curb and rein : 

For I scorn the strength of your puny hands, 
As the tempest scorns a chain ! 




380 


THE SONG OF LIGHTNING. 


THE SONG OF LIGHTNING. 


Away, away through the sightless air — 
Stretch forth your iron thread ; 

For I would not dim ray sandals fair 
With the dust ye tamely tread. 

Ay, rear it upon its million piers — 

Let it reach the world around, 

And the journey ye make in a hundred years 
I^ii clear at a single bound 1 

Though I cannot toil like the groaning slave 
Ye have fetter’d with iron skill, 

To ferry you over the boundless wave, 

Or grind in the noisy mill ; 

Let him sing his giant strength and speed: 
Why, a single shaft of mine 
Would give that monster a flight, indeed, 

To the depths of the ocean brine. 

No, no ! I’m the spirit of light and love: 

To my unseen hand ’tis given 
To pencil the ambient clouds above, 

And polish the stars of heaven, 

I scatter the golden rays of fire 
On the horizon far below. 

And deck the skies where storms expire 
With my red and dazzling glow. 

The deepest recesses of earth are mine — 

I traverse its silent core ; 

Around me the starry diamonds shine, 

And the'sparkling fields of ore ; 

And oft I leap from my throne on high 
To the depths of the ocean’s caves. 

Where the fadeless forests of coral lie, 

Far under the w’orld of w’aves. 

My being is like a lovely thought 
That dw’ells in a sinless breast ; 

A tone of music that ne’er was caught — • 

A word that was ne’er expressed. 

I burn in the bright and burnish’d halls. 
Where the fountains of sunlight play— 
Where the curtain of gold and opal falls 
O’er the scenes of the dying day. 


A SCENE IN VIRGINIA. 


881 


4 

f 

I 

I 


I 

■'t 

] A SCENE IN VIKGINIA. 

i 

» On a lovely morning, towards the close of spring, I found my- 
I self in a very beautiful part of the Great Valley of Virginia. 
( Spurred onward by impatience, I beheld the sun rising in splen- 
( dor and changing the blue tints on the tops of the lofty Alleghany 
j mountains into streaks of the purest gold, and nature seemed to 
p smile in the freshness of beauty. A ride of about fifteen miles, 
J and a pleasant woodland ramble of about two, brought myself 
l^and companion to the great Natural Bridge. 

\ Although I had been anxiously looking forward to this time, 
f and my mind had been considerably excited by expectation, yet I 
j was not altogether prepared for the visit. This great work of 
I nature is considered by many as the second great curiosity in our 
' country — ^Niagara Falls being the first. I do not expect to con- 
vey a very correct idea of this bridge, for no description can do 
1 this. 

The Natural Bridge is entirely the work of G od. It is of solid 
limestone, and connects two large mountains together by a most 
beatiful arch, over which their is a great wagon-road. Its length 
from one mountain to the other is nearly eighty feet ; its width 
about thirty-five; its thickness about forty-five, and its perpen- 
dicular height over the water is not far from two hundred and 
twenty feet. A few bushes grow on its top, by which the travel- 
ler may hold himself as he looks over. On each side of the 
stream and near the bridge, are rocks projecting ten or fifteen feet 
over the water, and from two hundred to three hundred feet from 
its surface, all of limestone. 

The visitor cannot give so good a description of this bridge as 
he can of his feelings at the time. He softly creeps out on a 
shaggy projecting rock, and looking down a chasm from forty to 
sixty feet wide, he sees, nearly three hundred feet below, a wide 
stream, foaming and dashing against the rocks beneath, as if ter- 


But away, away, through the sightless air — 
Stretch forth your iron thread ; 

For I would not soil iny sandals fair 
With the dust ye tamely tread. 

Ay, rear it upon its million piers — 

Let it circle the world around, 

And the journey ye make in a hundred years 
m clear at a single bound ! 


382 


A SCENE IN VIRGINIA. 


rified at tlie rocks above. This stream is called Cedar Creek. 
The visitor here sees trees under the arch whose height is seventy 
feet, and yet, to look down upon them, they appear like small 
bushes of perhaps two or three feet in height. I saw several 
birds fly under the arch, and they looked like insects. I threw 
down a stone, and counted thirty-four before it reached the water. 

All hear of heights and depths, but they here see what is high, 
and they tremble and feel it to be deep. The awful rocks pre- 
sent their everlasting hutments, the water murmurs and foams far 
below, and the two mountains rear their proud heads on each side, 
separated by a channel of sublimity. Those who view the sun, 
the moon, and the stars, and allow that none but God could make 
them, will here be impressed with the conviction that none but 
Almighty God could build a bridge like this. 

The view of the bridge from below is as pleasing as the top is 
awful. The arch from beneath would seem to be about two feet 
in thickness. Some idea of the distance from the top to the bot- 
tom may be formed from the fact, that, as I stood on the bridge 
and my companion beneath, neither of us could speak with suf- 
ficient loudness to be heard by the other. A man, from either 
view, does not appear more than four or five inches in height. 

As we stood under this beautiful arch we saw the place where 
visitors have often taken the pains to engrave their names upon 
the rock. Here Washington climbed up twenty-five feet and 
carved his own name, where it still remains. Some, wishing to 
immortalize their names, have engraved them deep and large, 
while others have tried to climb up and insert them high in this 
book of fame. 

A few years since a young man, being ambitious to place his 
name above all others, came very near losing his life in the at- 
tempt. After much fatigue he climbed up as high as possible, 
but found that the person who had before occupied his place was 
taller than himself, and consequently had placed his name above 
his reach, but he was not thus to be discouraged. He opened a 
large jack-knife, and in the soft limestone began to cut places for 
his hands and feet. With much patience and difficulty he worked 
his way upwards, and succeeded in carving his name higher than 
the most ambitious had done before him. He could now triumph, 
but his triumph was short, for he was placed in such a situation 
that it was impossible to descend unless he fell upon the ragged 
rocks beneath him. 

There was no house near from whence his companions could 
get assistance. He could not long remain in that condition, and, 
what was worse, his friends were too much frightened to do any- 


t 


A SCENE IN VIRGINIA. 383 

tiling for his relief. They looked upon him as already dead, ex- 
^ pecting every moment to see him dashed to pieces. Not so with 
himself. He determined to ascend. Accordingly he plied him- 
l. sclf with his knife, cutting places for his hands and feet, and 
li gradually ascended with incredible labor. He exerted every 
I muscle. His life was at stake, and all the terrors of death rose 
before him. He dared not look downwards, lest his head should 
become dizzy; and perhaps on this circumstance his life depended. 
His companions stood on the top of the rock exhorting and en- 
couraging him. His strength was almost exhausted ; but a bare 
? possibility of saving his life still remained ; and hope, the last 
1 friend of the distressed, had not forsaken him. His course up- 

I wards was rather oblique than perpendicular. His most critical 
moment had now arrived. 

He had ascended considerably more than two hundred feet, 
and had still further to rise, when he felt himself fast growing 
weak. He thought of his frinds and all his earthly joys, and he 
could not leave them. He thought of the grave, and dared not 
meet it. He now made his last effort, and succeeded. He had 
cut his way not far from two hundred and fifty, feet from the wa- 
iter, in a course almost perpendicular; and in a little less than 
ftwo hours his anxious companions reached him a pole from the 
( top and drew him up. They received him with shouts of joy ; 

I but he himself was completely exhausted. He immediately 
fainted away on reaching the top, and it was some time before he 
recovered. 

It was interesting to see the path up these awful rocks, and to 
follow in imagination this bold youth as he thus saved his life. 
His name stands far above all the rest, a monument of hardihood, 
:^of rashness, and of folly. 

f We stayed around this seat of grandeur four hours ; but, from 
^ my own feelings, I should not have supposed it over half an hour. 

I There is a little cottage near, lately built ; here we were desired 
r to write our names, as visitors to the bridge, in a large book kept 
^for this purpose. Two large volumes are nearly filled already, 
i Having immortalized our names by enrolling them in this book, 
: we slowly and silently returned to our horses, wondering at this 
,6 great work of nature. We could not but be filled with astonish- 
^ment at the amazing power of Him who can clothe himself in 
i wonder and terror, or throw around his works a mantle of sub- 
L limity. 


n 


384 


VICTORY AT NEW ORLEANS. 


GENERAL JACKSON^S VICTORY AT NEW ORLEANS. 

In the month of December, 1814, fifteen thousand British 
troops, under Sir Edward Packenham, were landed for the attack 
of New Orleans. The defence of this place was intrusted to 
General Andrew Jackson, whose force was about six thousand 
men, chiefly raw militia. Several slight skirmishes occurred 
before the enemy arrived before, the city; during this time Gene- 
ral Jackson was employed in making preparation for his defence. 
His front was a straight line of one thousand yards, defended by 
upwards of three thousand infantry and artillerists. The ditch 
contained five feet of water, and his front, from having been 
flooded by opening the levees, and by frequent rains, was ren- 
dered slippery and muddy. Eight distinct batteries were judi- 
ciously disposed, mounting in all twelve guns of different calibres. 
On the opposite side of the river was a strong battery of fifteen 
guns. 

At daylight on the morning of the 8th of January, the main 
body of the British, under their commander-in-chief. General 
Packenham, were seen advancing from their encampment to 
storm the American lines. On the preceding evening they had 
erected a battery within eight hundred yards, which now opened 
a brisk fire to protect their advance. The British came on in 
two columns, the left along the levee on the bank of the river, 
directed against the American right, while their right advanced 
to the swamp, with a view to turn General Jackson^ s left. The 
country being a perfect level, and the view unobstructed, their 
march was observed from its commencement. They were suf- 
fered to approach, in silence and unmolested, until within three 
hundred yards of the lines. 

This period of suspense and expectation was employed by 
General Jackson and his officers in stationing every man at his 
post, and arranging every thing for the decisive event. When 
the British columns had advanced within three hundred yards of 
the lines, the whole artillery at once opened upon them a most 
deadly fire. Forty pieces of cannon, deeply charged with grape, 
canister, and musket-balls, mowed them down by hundreds ; at 
the same time the batteries on the west bank opened their fire, 
while the riflemen, in perfect security behind their works, as the 
British advanced took deliberate aim, and nearly every shot took 
effect. 

Through this destructive fire, the British left column, under 
the immediate orders of the commander-in -chief, rushed on with 


VICTORY AT NEW ORLEANS. 


885 


their fascines and scaling ladders, to the advance bastion on the 
American right, and succeeded in mounting the parapet; here, 
after a close conflict with the bayonet, they succeeded in obtain- 
ing possession of the bastion ; when the battery planted in the 
rear for its protection opened its fire, and drove the British from 
the ground. On the American left, the British attempted to 
pass the swamp, and gain the rear, but the works had been ex- 
I tended as far into the swamp as the ground would permit. Some 
I who attempted it sank in the mire and disappeared ; those behind, 

I seeing the fate of their companions, seasonably retreated and 
gained the hard ground. 

The assault continued an hour and a quarter ; during the whole 
1 time the British were exposed to the deliberate and destructive 
- tire of the American artillery and musketry, which lay in perfect 
security behind their breastworks of cotton bales, which no balls 
could penetrate. 

At eight o^clock, the British columns drew off in confusion, 
and retreated behind their works. Flushed with success, the 
I military were eager to pursue the British troops to their intrench- 
f ments, and drive them immediately from the island. A less pru- 
I dent and accomplished general might have been induced to yield 
to the indiscreet ardor of his troops ; but General Jackson under- 
stood too well the nature both of his own and his enemy’s force, 
to hazard such an attempt. Defeat must inevitaloly have 
attended an assault made by raw militia, upon an intrenched 
camp of British regulars. The defence of New Orleans was the 
object ; nothing was to be hazarded which would jeopardize the 
city. 

The British were suffered to retire behind their works without 
molestation. The result was such as might be expected from the 
different positions of the two armies. General Packenham, near 
the crest of the glacis, received a ball in his knee. Still continu- 
ing to lead on his men, another shot pierced his body, and he w^as 
carried off the field. Nearly at this time, IMajor-General Gibbs, 
the second in command, within a few yards of the lines, received 
a mortal wound, and was removed. The third in command, 

' Major-General Keane, at the head of his troops near the glacis, 
‘ was severely wounded. 

The three commanding generals, on marshalling their troops at 
five o’clock in the morning, promised them a plentiful dinner in 
New Orleans, and gave them booty and beauty as the parole and 
countersign of the day. Before eight o’clock, the three generals 
were carried off the field, two in the agonies of death, and the 
83 


386 . 


HORRORS OF BATTLE. 


third entirely disabled ; leaving upwards of two thousand of their 
men, dead, dying, and wounded, on the field of battle. 

On the 9th, General Lambert and Admiral Cochrane, with the 
surviving officers of the army, held a council of war, and deter- 
mined to abandon the expedition. To withdraw the troops in the 
face of a victorious enemy, would have been difficult and hazard- 
ous. To withdraw in safety, every appearance of a renewal of the 
assault was kept up, till the night of the 18th, when the whole 
army moved off in one body, over a road which had been pre- 
viously constructed through a miry slough, in which a number 
of the troops perished by sinking into the mire. On the 27th, 
the whole land and naval forces which remained of this disastrous 
expedition found themselves on board of their ships, with their 
ranks thinned, their chiefs and many of their companions slain, 
their bodies emaciated by hunger, fatigue and sickness. 


HORRORS OF BATTLE. 

The battle took place on the margin of the Niagara River, an 
extensive plain, which had' once been covered with fine farms; 
but now, forsaken by the inhabitants, and desolated by war, it 
exhibited only a barren waste. The river at that place begins to 
acquire some of that terrific velocity with which it rushes over 
the awful precipice three miles below, creating one of the grand- 
est natural curiosities in existence ; the noise of the cataract is 
heard, and the column • of foam distinctly seen from the battle- 
ground. On the other side, the field js bounded by a thick 
forest, but the plain itself presents a level smooth surface, un- 
broken by ravines, and without a tree or bush to intercept the 
view, or an obsLicle to impede the movements of the hostile 
bodies, or to afford to either party an advantage. 

From this plain the American camp was separated by a small 
creek. In the full glare of the summer sun on the morning of 
the 5th of July, the British troops were seen advancing to our 
camp, across the destined field of strife; their waving plumes, 
their scarlet uniforms, and gilded ornaments exhibited a gay and 
gorgeous appearance. Their martial music, their firm and rapid 
step, indicated elastic hopes and high courage. The Americans, 
inferior in number, were easily put in motion to meet the advanc- 
ing foe : they crossed a smalt rude bridge, the only outlet from 
the camp, under a heavy fire of the enemy’s artillery, and moved 
steadily to the spot selected for the engagement. 


The scene at this moment was beautiful and imposing. The 
British line, glowing with crimson hues, was stretched across the 
plain, flanked by pieces of brass ordnance, whose rapid discharge 
spread death over the field, and filled the air with thunder ; while 
the clouds of smoke enveloped each extremity of the line, left the 
centre only exposed to the eye, and, extending on to the river on 
the one hand, and the forest on the other, filled the whole back- 
grounds of the landscape. The Americans were advancing in 
columns. They were new recruits, now led for the first time into 
action, and, except a few officers, none of that heroic band had 
ever before seen the banner of a foe. 

But they moved steadily to their ground, unbroken by the 
galling fire ; and platoon after platoon wheeled into line with the 
same graceful accuracy of movement which marks the evolution 
of the holiday parade, until the whole column was deployed into 
extended front ; the officers carefully dressed the line with tech- 
nical skill, and the whole brigade evinced, by its deep silence, 
and the faithful precision of its movements, the subordination of 
strict discipline, and the steady firmness of determined courage. 
Now the musketry of the enemy began to rattle, pouring bullets 
as thick as hail upon our ranks. Still not a trigger was drawn, 
not a voice was heard on our side, save the quick peremptory 
tones of command. 

^ ' General Scott rode along the line cheering and restraining his 
troops, then passed from flank to flank to see if all was as he 
wished : he wheeled his steed into the rear of the troops, and 
gave the command to Fire.^' A voice was immediately heard 
in the British ranks — supposed to be that of their commander — 
exclaiming, Charge the Yankees 1 charge the Bufialo malitia ! 
charge ! charge The American general ordered his men to 

Support arms 

The British rushed forward with bayonets charged ; but they 
were struck with amazement when they beheld those whom their 
commander tauntingly called malitia, standing motionless as 
statues ; their muskets erect, their arms folded across their breasts, 
gazing calmly at their ranks advancing furiously with levelled 
bayonets. It was a refinement of discipline rarely exhibited, and 
here altogether unexpected. 

The Americans stood until the enemy approached within a few 
paces; until the foemen could see the fire flashing from each 
other’s eyes, and each could read the expression of his adversary’s 
face ; then deliberately as the word was given, the Americans 
levelled their pieces and fired — and the whole of the enemy’s line 
seemed annihilated! — Many were killed, many wounded, and 


388 


HORRORS OF BATTLE. 


some, rushing forward with powerful momentum, fell over their 
prostrate companions, or were thrown down by the weight of suc- 
ceeding combatants. 

In one instant the ground occupied by that gallant line was 
covered by flying Britons ; in another, a second line had advanced 
to sustain the contest ; while the broken fragments of the first 
were rallied behind it. The Buffalo malitia^^ were now the 
assailants, advancing with charged bayonets. Then it was that 
the young American chiefs who led that gallant host displayed 
the skill of veterans, and the names of Scott, Jessup, Leaven- 
worth, McNeil, and Hinrnan, were given to their country to adorn 
the proudest pages of its history. Five-and-thirty minutes de- 
cided the contest, and the retiring foe was pursued and driven to 
his fortress. None who saw will forget the terrific beauty of this 
scene ; the noble appearance of the troops — the dreadful precision 
of every movement — the awful fury of the battle — its fatal seve- 
rity — its brief continuance — its triumphant close. 

As the victors returned from the pursuit of the retiring enemy, 
a scene of intense interest was presented. They traversed the 
field which a few minutes before had sparkled with the proud 
equipage of war. There had been gallant men, and gay uniforms, 
and waving banners ; and there had been drums and trumpets, 
and the wild notes of the bugle, stirring the soul to action. There 
had been nodding plumes, and beating hearts, and eyes that 
gleamed with ambition. 

There too had been tempestuous chiefs, emulous of fame, dash- 
ing their fiery steeds along the hostile ranks ; and there had been 
all the spirit-stirring sighs and sounds that fill the eye and the ear 
and the heart of the young warrior, giving more than the poeFs 
fire to the entranced imagination. What a change had a few 
brief minutes produced ! Now the field was strewed with ghastly 
and disfigured forms, with the wounded, with the mutilated and 
the dying. The ear was filled with strange and melancholy and 
terrific sounds ; the shouts of victory had given place to groans 
of anguish, the complaints of the vanquished, the prayers or the 
imprecations of the dying. 

Here was one who called upon Heaven to protect his children, 
another raved of a bereaved wife, a third tenderly aspired a be- 
loved name, consecrated only by that tie — while others deprecated 
their own suffering or pleaded piteously for the pardon of their sins. 
Here were those who prayed ardently for death, and some who 
implored a few minutes more of life. Complaints of bodily pain, 
and confession of unrepented crimes, burst forth from the souls 


.CONSTITUTION AND GUERRIERE. 


389 


of many in heart-rending accents; while some, as they gazed 
upon the fast-flowing crimson torrent, wasted the brief remains 
of breath in moralizing upon the shortness of life, and man^s 
careless prodigality of existence. 

Many gallant spirits there were on that ensanguined plain who 
prayed silently; and some who dared not pray, and yet scorned 
to murmur. Their compressed lips bespoke their firmness ; their 
eyes wandered wistfully over the bright scene that was fading 
before them, and they grasped fervently the hands of those who 
bade them farewell. 


CONSTITUTION AND GUERRIERE. 

The Guerriere was lying to. The Constitution was leisurely 
bearing down upon the enemy under her topsails ; every man was 
at his respective station, and all on board were eager for the con- 
test, when the Guerriere commenced the action at long shot. 
Commodore Hull gave a peremptory order to his ofiicers not to 
apply a single match until he gave the word. In a few minutes 
a forty-two pounder from the Guerriere took elfect, and killed 
and wounded some of our brave tars. Lieutenant Morris imme- 
diately left his station on the gun -deck to report the same to the 
commodore, and requested’ permission to return the fire, as the 
men were very anxious to engage the enemy. 

Mr. Morris,^^ was the commodore's reply, are you ready 
for action on the gun-deck?" Yes, sir." ^MVell, keep so; 
but don't let a gun be fired till I give the word." 

In a few moments Mr. Morris again appeared, and stated that 
he could with difficulty restrain the men from giving the enemy 
a broadside, so anxious were they to commence the engagement. 

Mr. Morris," reiterated the commodore, intently gazing on 
the English frigate, are you ready for action on the gun-deck ?" 

Yes, sir; and it is impossible for me any longer to restrain the 
men from firing on the foe. Their passions are wrought up to 
the highest possible pitch of excitement. Several of our bravest 
seamen are already killed and wounded" — Keep cool, Mr. 
Morris, keep cool. See all prepared, and do not suffer a gun to 
be fired till I give the word." 

The gallant lieutenant went below. In a few minutes, the 
vessels having neared each other to within pistol-shot distance, 
Morris was sent for to appear on the quarter-deck. 

33 * 


390 


CONSTITUTION AND GUERRIERE. 


Are yon all ready for action, Mr. Morris again demanded 
the commodore. We are all ready, sir; and the men are utter- 
ing horrid imprecations because they are not suffered to return 
the fire of the enemy.^^ Fire, then, in God's name !" shouted 
the commodore, in a voice of thunder. It is added, that he wore 
at the time a pair of nankeen tiykis : and he accompanied this 
soul-cheering order with such a tremendous stamp on the deck 
with his right foot, that the unfortunate pantaloons were split 
open from the knee to the waistband. 

The conduct of Dacres, before and during the action, was such 
as might have been expected from a brave and generous enemy. 
Mr. Reed, a young man belonging to Brewster, Massachusetts, 
at present a respectable shipmaster out of Boston, had been 
pressed on board the Guerriere a few weeks previous to the en- 
gagement. Several other American seamen were also on board. 
When the Constitution was bearing down in such gallant style, 
and it became evident that a severe action with an American 
frigate was inevitable, young Reed left his station and proceeded 
to the quarter-deck, and respectfully but firmly represented to 
Captain Dacres, that he was an American citizen, who had been 
unjustly detained on board the English frigate; that he had 
hitherto faithfully performed the duties which were assigned 
him ; and that it could not reasonably be expected he would 
fight against his countrymen ; he therefore begged leave to de- 
cline the honor of participating in the* engagement. 

The English captain frankly told him that he appreciated his 
patriotic feelings; that he did not wish the Americans on board 
to use arms against their countrymen ; and he subsequently 
ordered them all into the cockpit, to render assistance to the sur- 
geon, if it should be necessary. Reed left the spar-deck after 
the Guerriere had commenced the action. Several shot were 
known to have taken effect, but the Constitution had not yet 
fired a gun, much to the amusement of the British tars, who pre- 
dicted that the enemy would be taken without resistance, with 
the exception of a veteran man-of-war’ s-man, who was in the 
battle of the Nile, and gruflSiy observed, with a significant shake 
of the head, That Yankee knows what he’s about.” 

A few moments passed away, and the Constitution poured in 
her tremendous broadside; every gun was double-shotted and 
well-pointed, and the effect which it had on the enemy can hardly 
be conceived. Mistimed jests and jeers at imperturbable but 
harmless Yankees gave place to the groans of the wounded and 
dying, and sixteen poor mutilated wretches were tumbled down 
into the cockpit from the effects of the first broadside I 


CONSTITUTION AND GUERRIERE. 


391 


Dacres fought as long as a spar was standing, and a gun could 
i he brought to bear upon the enemy ; but when his masts were 
completely swept away, his officers and men mostly killed and 
wounded, encumbering the decks; while the scuppers were 
' streaming with gore; when the Guerriere, which a few hours 
before was justly considered one of the most splendid specimens 
of naval architecture which belonged to the l^ritish navy, lay on 
the water an unsightly, unmanageable mass ; when he had no 
longer the stump of a mast left from which to display the proud 
flag of his country, the gallant Briton began to think he had got 
into an ugly scrape, from which he could not possibly extricate 
himself. He could no longer oppose even a feeble resishince to 
his more fortunate foe. 

Commodore Hull sent an ofldcer to take possession of the 
Guerriere. When he arrived alongside, he demanded of the 
commander of the English frigate if he had struck. Dacres was 
extremely reluctant to make this concession in plain terms, but, 
with a shrewdness which would have done honor to a Yankee, 
endeavored to evade the question. 

I do not know that it would be prudent to continue the en- 
gagement any longer,'^ said he. Do I understand you to say 
that you have struck inquired the American lieutenant. ^‘Not 
precisely,'^ returned Dacres; ‘^but I don^t know that it will be 
worth while to fight any longer.^^ If you think it advisable, I 
will return aboard,'' replied the Yankee, ^^and we will resume 
the engagement." Why, I am pretty much hors de combat 
I already," said Dacres; have hardly men enough left to work 
I a gun, and my ship is in a sinking condition." T wish to 
iknow, sir," peremptorily demanded the American officer, “whe- 
I ther I am to consider you as a prisoner of war, or an enemy. I 
I have no time for further parley." I believe there is now no 

I alternative. If I could fight longer, I would with pleasure; but 

I I — must — surrender — myself — a prisoner of tvar /" 


i 


392* 


OLD IRONSIDES — FEMALE HEROISM. 


OLD IRONSIDES. 

At, tear her tattered ensign down 1 
Long has it waved on high. 

And many an eye has danced to see 
That banner in the sky ; 

Beneath it rung the battle shout, 

And burst the cannon^s roar; 

The meteor of the ocean air 

Shall sweep the clouds no more. 

Her deck, once red with heroes^ blood, 
Where knelt the vanquished foe. 

When winds were hurrying o^er the flood, 
And waves were white below, 

No more shall feel the victor's tread, 

Or know the conquered knee ; 

The harpies of the shore shall pluck 
The eagle of the sea. 

0, better that her shattered hulk 
Should sink beneath the wave. 

Her thunders shook the mighty deep. 

And there should be her grave ; 

Nail to the mast her holy flag, 

Set every threadbare sail, 

And give her to the god of storms — 

The lightning and the gale. 


FEMALE HEROISM. 

A CORRESPONDENT of the New York Evening Post, in a letter 
dated Natchez, on the 19th of August, 1825, gives the following 
account of a transaction which occurred twelve or fifteen years 
ago in Indiana, soon after the first settlement of that country by 
the whites. The writer states that the story was related to him 
a short time since by one of the parties concerned. William and 
Mary, the persons here alluded to, were a young farmer and his 
wife, who were very pleasantly situated on a fine farm, and with 
three beL*atiful children, were in the enjoyment of blessino-g 
‘which rarely fall to the lot of the settlers of a new country. 

In this situation, says the account, “ matters stood at the 
inemorable battle of Tippecanoe, when the whole frontier, and 
indeed the whole State, was thrown into commotion and alarm. 


FEMALE HEROISM. 


393 


Many depredations and massacres were committed by tlie Indians, 
and some deeds of dreadful note were done, which never could 
|be satisfactorily accounted for. The brave and humane General 
Harrison, who commanded at that time, had erected in various 
parts of the State what were termed lines of block-houses, in 
which were posted detached parties of soldiers and militia, who 
acted as picket guards to the frontier inhabitants ; they also served 
as a line of communication from post to post, and as a place of 
refuge for the weak and defenceless from the approach of an* 
enemy. 

One of these linies of block-houses extended through the set- 
tlement in which William lived, and most of the inhabitants had 
taken shelter within their walls. He, however, from some cause 
or other, had neglected so to do, as well as one of his nearest 
neighbors. One morning, William had taken his rifle and gone 
some miles on business, promising to return home as early in the 
evening as possible. He had not been gone more than an hour, 
when Mary, who was a few rods from the house with her chil- 
dren, was alarmed by the sudden and horrid yell of the savages 
— two of them at the same time appearing in the skirts of a 
wood, a few hundred yards distant. 

She instantly caught up the two children that were nearest her, 
and fled to the house : having placed them within the door, she 
was rcrturning for the other, when she saw with agony that one 
of the Indians had already seized her hapless child, while the 
other was making toward the house with lengthened strides, ter- 
rific yells, and uplifted tomahawk. What was to be done ? There 
was no alternative, and she retreated precipitately within, and 
had scarce a moment left to secure the door on the inside with a 
wooden bar, when the Indian was at it, endeavoring to force it 
open ; but finding it much better secured than he had antici- 
pated, he began to utter the most horrid execrations, and called 
his companion to his assistance. 

^‘They both seemed to speak the English language perfectly, 
which not a little surprised Mary. They made various eftbrts to 
force open the door, all the while uttering the most dreadful 
threats, that if she did not open it and let them in, they would 
murder her child, and then burn down the house over her head. 
Alas, poor Mary ! she knew but too well that death was her por- 
tion, and persisted in keeping the door barred. They at length 
became desperate, finding themselves much foiled, and actually 
dashed the child’s brains out against a tree that stood before the 
house, while the mother was looking through a small opening be- 
tween the logs of the building. 


394 


FEMALE HEROISM. 


A darkness came over her eyes, her heart ceased to beat for a 
moment, and she sank upon her knees, for she could support her- 
self no longer, and had almost fainted. She, however, soon 
rallied her faculties, offered up a fervent ejaculation to that Om- 
nipotent Being who is all powerful to save, and arose. Her first 
thought was to conceal her children, open the door, and give her- 
self up as a sacrifice to their vengeance, in hopes that her off- 
spring might possibly be saved. This idea, however vain it might 
•appear, was prevented from being put into execution, by one of 
the Indians exclaiming that he would come down the chimney. 
The Indian who had murdered the child had ascended the corner 
of the house by means of the projecting ends of the logs, and 
commenced descending the chimney. 

In this extremity, Mary had given up all for lost; she was 
stooping to embrace her children, as she believed for the last 
time, when she thought of her straw bed. She immediately flew 
to it with the strength of an Amazon, tore open the ticking, and 
threw its contents upon the fire ; a full column of blaze and smoke 
ascended the chimney, while the murderous wretch was about 
midway between the top and bottom, and could neither ascend 
nor descend to extricate himself, before he had drawn into his 
lungs that fiery draught, which instantly suffocated him to death. 
He fell into the fire, and rolled upon the hearth a black and life- 
less corpse. It now seemed as if the whole energy of Mary’s 
mind had burst upon her ; she caught up the tomahawk, which 
he still held in his ‘ death grasp,’ and went deliberately and 
opened the door. 

The Indian on the outside, thinking it was his comrade, en- 
tered entirely off his guard, when the tomahawk of his accom- 
plice was buried in the back of his head, and he fell dead on the 
floor. Mary instantly took her two remaining children in her 
arms, and fled to the nearest neighbor, and gave the alarm. The 
woman of the house seemed much agitated, and said her husband 
had gone out about half an hour before. She then proceeded on 
to another settler’s, about a mile farther, and told w”hat she had 
done. 

Three or four men who happened to be there at the time 
caught up their rifles, and proceeded immediately to William’s 
residence, when on examination it was found — horrible to re- 
late — that these worse than savage monsters were not Indians, 
but were actually white men ! and that one of them was Wil- 
liam’s nearest neighbor, the owner of the house to which 
]\Iary had first fled for protection. It would seem, that knowing 
William was possessed of a few hundred dollars, he, in company 


THE MOTHERS OF THE WEST. 


895 


with another wretch, who had been but a few weeks in the settle- 
ment, formed the horrid design of murdering the whole family 
in the disguise of Indians, and possessing themselves of the 
money. But a merciful God prevented them from entirely ac- 
complishing their object.'^ 


THE MOTHERS OF THE WEST. 

The mothers of our forest-land 1 
Stout-hearted dames were they ; 

With nerve to wield the battle-brand, 
And join the border-fray. 

Our rough land had no braver, 

In its davs of blood and strife — 

Aye ready for severest toil, 

Aye free to peril life. 


The mothers of our forest-land I 
On old Kentucky's soil, 

How shared they, with each dauntless band, 
WaFs tempest and lifers toil ! 

They shrank not from the foeman — 

They quail’d not in the fight — 

But cheer’d their husbands through the day. 
And soothed them through the night. 

The mothers of our forest-land I 
Their bosoms pillow’d men 1 
And proud were they by such to stand, 

In hammock, fort, or glen, 

To load the sure, old rifle — 

To run the leaden ball — 

To watch a battling husband’s place, 

And fill it, should he fall. 

The mothers of our forest-land I 
Such were their daily deeds. 

Their monument! — where does it stand? 

Their epitaph 1 — who reads? 

No braver dames had Sparta, 

No nobler matrons Rome — 

Yet who or lauds or honors them. 

E’en in their own green home ? 


39G 


THE PRAIRIE ON FIRE. 


The mothers of our forest-land I 
They sleep in unknown graves : 

And had they borne and nursed a band 
Of ingrates, or of slaves, 

They had not been more neglected ! 

But their graves shall yet be found. 
And their monuments dot here and there 
“ The Dark and Bloody Ground.^' 


THE PRAIRIE ON FIRE. 

The sleep of the fugitives lasted for several hours. The trap- 
per was the first to shake off its influence, as he had been the 
last to court its refreshment. Rising just as the grey light of day 
began to brighten that portion of the studded vault which rested 
on the eastern margin of the plain, he summoned his companions 
from their warm lairs, and pointed out the necessity of their being 
once more on the alert. 

See, Middleton V’ exclaimed Inez, in a sudden burst of youth- 
ful pleasure that caused her for a moment to forget her situation. 

How lovely is that sky ; surely it contains a promise of happier 
times V* 

It is glorious returned her husband. Glorious and hea- 
venly is that streak of vivid red, and here is a still brighter crim- 
son — rarely have I seen a richer rising of the sun.^^ 

Rising of the sun slowly repeated the old man, lifting his 
tall person from its seat, with a deliberate and abstracted air, while 
he kept his eye riveted on the changing and certainly beautiful 
tints that were garnishing the vault of heaven. ‘^Rising of the 
sun ! I like not such risings of the sun. AVs me ! the imps 
have circumvented us with a vengeance. The prairie is on fire V* 

God in heaven protect us cried Middleton, catching Inez 
to his bosom under the instant impression of the imminence of 
their danger. There is no time to lose, old man ; each instant 
is a day ; let us fly.^^ 

Whither demanded the trapper, motioning him with calm- 
ness and dignity, to arrest his steps. In this wilderness of grass 
and reeds, you are like a vessel in the broad lakes without a com- 
pass. A singi^e step on the wrong course might prove the destruc- 
tion of us all. It is seldom danger is so pressing that there is 
not time enough for reason to do its work, young officer ] therefore 
let us await its bid dings.'’ 

For my own part," said Paul Hover, looking about him with 


THE PRAIRIE ON FIRE. 


897 


DO unequivocal expression of concern, I acknowledge that should 
this dry bed of weeds get fairly in a flame, a bee would have to 
make a flight higher than common to prevent his wings from 
scorching. Therefore, old trapper, I agree with the captain, and 
say mount and run.^^ 

Ye are wrong — ye are wrong — man is not a beast to follow 
the gift of instinct, and to snuff up his knowledge by a taint in 
the air, or a rumbling in the sound ; but he must see and reason, 
and then conclude. So follow me a little to the left, where there 
is a rise in the ground, whence we may make our reconnoitrings.^^ 
The old man waved his hand with authority, and led the way 
without further parlance to the spot he had indicated, followed 
by the whole of his alarmed companions. An eye less practised 
than that of the trapper might have failed in discovering the 
gentle elevation to which he alluded, and which looked on the 
surface of the meadow like a growth a little taller than common. 
When they reached the place, however, the stinted grass itself 
announced the absence of that moisture which had fed the rank 
weeds of most of the plain, and furnished a clue to the evidence 
by which he had judged of the formation of the ground hidden 
beneath. Here a few minutes were lost in breaking down the tops 
of the surrounding herbage, which, notwithstanding the advan- 
tage of their position, rose even above the heads of Middleton 
and Paul, and in obtaining a look-out that might command a view 
of the surrounding sea of fire. 

The examination which his companions so instantly and so in- 
tently made, rather served to assure them of their desperate situ- 
ation than to appease their fears. Huge columns of smoke were 
rolling up from the plain, and thickening in gloomy masses around 
the horizon. The red glow which gleamed upon their enormous 
folds, now lighting their volumes with the glare of the conflagra- 
tion, now flash to another point as the flame beneath glided 
ahead, leaving all behind enveloped in awful darkness, and pro- 
claiming louder than words the character of the imminent and 
rapidly approaching danger. 

This is terrible exclaimed Middleton, folding the trembling 
' Inez to his heart. ^^At such a time as this and in such a manner V 
^^The gates of heaven are open to all who truly believe,^^ mur- 
mured the pious devotee in his bosom. 

This resignation is maddening ! But we are men, and will 
make a struggle for our lives ! How now, my brave and spirited 
friend, shall we yet mount and push across the flames, or shall we 
stand here and see thovse we most love perish in this frightful 
planner without an effort 
ol 


398 


THE PRAIRIE ON FIRE. 


I am for a swarming time, and a flight before the hive is too 
hot to hold us/^ said the hee-hunter, to whom it will be at once 
seen that the half-distracted Middleton addressed himself. Come, 
old trapper, you must acknowledge this is but a slow way of get- 
ting out of danger. If we tarry here much longer it will be in 
the fashion that the bees lie around the straw after the hive has 
been smoked for its honey. You may hear the fire begin to roar 
already, and I know by experience that when the flame once gets 
fairly into the prairie grass, it is no sloth that can outrun it.^^ 
Think you,^^ returned the old man, pointing scornfully at the 
mazes of the dry and matted grass which environed them, that 
mortal feet can outstrip the speed of fire on such a path 

What say you, friend doctor,^ ^ cried the bewildered Paul, 
turning to the naturalist with that sort of helplessness with which 
the strong are often apt to seek aid of the weak, when human 
power is baffled by the hand of a mightier being, ^^what say you; 
have you no advice to give away in a case of life and death V’ 
The naturalist stood, tablets in hands, looking at the awful 
spectacle with as much composure as though the conflagration had 
been lighted in order to solve the difficulties of some scientific 
problem. Aroused by the question of his companion, he turned 
to his equally calm, though differently occupied associate, the 
trapper, demanding, with the most provoking insensibility to the 
urgent nature of their situation — Venerable hunter, you have 
often witnessed similar prismatic experiments — 

He was rudely interrupted by Paul, who stmck the tablets from 
his hands with a violence that betrayed the utter intellectual con- 
fusion which had overset the equanimity of his mind. Before 
time was allowed for remonstrance, the old man, who had con- 
tinued during the whole scene like one who was rather perplexed 
than alarmed, suddenly assumed a decided air, as if he no longer 
doubted on the course it was most advisable to pursue. 

It is time to be doing,^^ he said, interrupting the controversy 
that was about to ensue between the naturalist and the bee-hunter ; 
it is time to leave off books and moanings, and to be doing.’ ^ 
You have come to your recollections too late, miserable old 
man,” cried Middleton; ^^the flames are within a quarter of a 
mile of us, and the wind is bringing them down in this quarter 
with dreadful rapidity.” 

^^Anan ! the flames ! I care but little for the flames. If I 
knew how to circumvent the cunning of the Teutons, as I know 
how to cheat the fire of its prey, there would be nothing needed 
but thanks to the Lord for our deliverance. Do you call this a 
fire ? If you had seen what I have witnessed in the eastern hills, 


THE PRAIRIE ON FIRE. 


399 


when mighty mountains were like the furnace of a smith, you 
would have known what it was to fear the flames and to be thank- 
ful that you were spared! Come, lads, come; His time to be 
doing now, and to cease talking; for yonder curling flame is 
truly coming on like a trotting moose. Put hands upon this short 
and withered grass where we stand, and lay bare the Hrth.^^ 

Would you think to deprive the fire of its victims in this 
childish manner 1^^ exclaimed Middleton. 

A faint but solemn smile passed over the features of the old 
man as he answered — Your gran’ther would have said that when 
the enemy was nigh a soldier could do no better than to obey.^^ 
The captain felt the reproof, and instantly began to imitiite the 
industry of Paul, who was tearing the decayed herbage from the 
ground in a sort of desperate compliance with the trapper’s direc- 
tion. Even Ellen lent her hands to the labor, nor was it long 
before Inez was seen similarly employed, though none amongst 
them knew why or wherefore. When life is thought to be the 
reward of labor, men are w^ont to be industrious. A very few 
moments sufficed to lay bare a spot of some twenty feet in diame- 
ter. Into one edge of this little area the trapper brought the 
females, directing Middleton and Paul to cover their light and 
inflammable dresses with the blankets of the party. So soon as 
this precaution was observed, the old man approached the opposite 
margin of the grass, which still environed them in a tall and dan- 
gerous circle, and selecting a handful of the driest of the herbage, 
he placed it over the pan of his rifle. The light combustible kin- 
dled at the flash. Then he placed the little flame into a bed of 
the standing fog, and withdrawing from the spot to the centre of 
the ring, he patiently awaited the result. 

The subtle element seized with avidity upon its new fuel, and 
in a moment forked flames were gliding among the grass as the 
tongues of ruminating animals are seen rolling among their food 
apparently in quest of its sweetest portions. 

“ Now,” said the old man, holding up a finger and laughing in 
his peculiar silent manner, you shall see fire fight fire ! Ah’s 
me 1 many is the time I have burnt a smooty path from wanton 
laziness to pick my way across a tangled bottom.” 

But is this not fatal ?” cried the amazed Middleton ; are 
you not bringing the enemy nigher to us instead of avoiding it 
Do you scorch so easily ? — your gran’ther had a tougher skin. 
But we shall live to see; we shall all live to see.” 

The experience of the trapper was in the right. As the fire 
gained strength and heat it began to spread on three sides, dying 
of itvself on the fourth for want of aliment. As it increased, and 


400 


THE PRAIRIE ON FIRE. 


the sullen roaring announced its power, it cleared everything be- 
fore it, leaving the black and smoking soil far more naked than 
if the scythe had swept the place. The situation of the fugitives 
would have still been hazardous had not the area enlarged as the 
flame encircled them. But by advancing to the spot where the 
trapper had kindled the grass, they avoided the heat^ and in a 
very few moments the flames began to recede in every quarter, 
leaving them enveloped in a cloud of smoke, but perfectly safe 
from the torrent of fire that was still furiously rolling onward. 

The spectators regarded the simple expedient of the trapper 
with that species of wonder with which the courtiers of Ferdinand 
are said to have viewed the manner in which Columbus made the 
egg stand on its end, though with feelings that were filled with 
gratitude instead of envy. 

Most wonderful said Middleton, when he saw the complete 
success of the means by which they had been rescued from a dan- 
ger that he had conceived to be unavoidable. The thought was 
a gift from heaven, and the hand that executed it should be im- 
mortal. 

Old trapper,^^ cried Paul, thrusting his fingers through his 
shaggy locks, I have lined many a loaded bee into his hole, and 
know something of the nature of the woods, but this is robbing 
a hornet of his sting without touching the insect 

It will do — it will do,^^ returned the old man, who after the 
first moment of his success seemed to think no more of the ex- 
ploit. Let the flames do. their work for a short half hour and 
then we will mount. That time is needed to cool the meadow, 
for these unshod beasts are tender on the hoof as a barefooted girl.^^ 

The veteran, on whose experience they all so implicitly relied 
for protection, employed himself in reconnoitring objects in the 
distance, through the openings which the air occasionally made 
in the immense bodies of smoke that by this time lay in enor- 
mous piles on every part of the plain. 


THE PRAIRIES. 


401 


THE PKAIRIES. 


These are the Gardens of the Desert, these 
The unshorn fields, boundless and beautiful. 

And fresh as the young earth, ere man had sinned — 
The Prairies ! I behold them for the first. 

And my heart swells, while the dilated sight 
Takes in the encircling vastness. 


Lo ! they stretch. 

In airy undulations, far away, 

As if the ocean, in his gentlest swell. 

Stood still, with all his rounded billows fixed, 
And motionless forever. Motionless? 

No — they are all unchained again. 


The clouds 

Sweep over with their shadows, and beneath 
The surface rolls and fluctuates to the eye ; 
Dark hollows seem to glide along and chase 
The sunny ridges. Breezes of the South ! 

Who toss the golden and the flame-like flowers, 
And pass the prairie-hawk that, poised on high, 
Flaps his broad wdngs, yet moves not — 


Ye have played 

Among the palms of Mexico, and vines 
Of Texas, and have crisped the limpid brooks 
That from the fountains of Sonora glide 
Into the calm Pacific — have ye fanned 
A nobler or a lovelier scene than this? 


Man hath no part in all this glorious work : 

The hand that built the firmament hath heaved 

And smoothed these verdant swells, and sown their slopes 

With herbage, planted them with island groves. 

And hedged them round with forests. Fitting floor 
For this magnificent temple of the sky — 

With flowers whose glory and whose multitude 
Rival the constellations 1 The great heavens 
Seem to stoop down upon the scene in love. 


34 * 


402 


A FOREST ON FIRE. 


$ 

A FOREST ON FIRE. 

Audubon, in his interesting ornithological biography, gives 
the following characteristic narrative, related by a lumberer, whom 
he met with in Maine. The burning of forests has not been an 
infrequent accident in Maine, and the less settled districts of our 
northern States. 

We were sound asleep one night,^^ said the lumberer, when, 
about two hours before day, the snorting of the horses, and 
lowing of the cattle which had been ranging in the woods, sud- 
denly awakened us. I took my rifle, and went to the door to see 
what beast had caused the hubbub, when I was struck by the 
glare of light reflected on all the trees before me, as far as I could 
see through the woods. My horses were leaping about, snorting 
loudly, and the cattle ran among them with their tails raised over 
their backs. On going to the back of the house, I plainly heard 
the crackling made by the burning brushwood, and saw the 
flames coming toward us in a far extended line. I ran to the 
house, told my wife to dress herself and the child as quickly as 
possible, and take the little money we had, while I managed to 
catch and saddle the two best horses. All this was done in a 
very short time, for I guessed that every moment was precious 
to us. 

We then mounted and made off from the fire. My wife, 
who is an excellent rider, stuck close to me ; my daughter, who 
was then a small child, I took in one arm. When making off, 
as I said, I looked back and saw that the frightful blaze was 
close upon us, and had already laid hold of the house. By good 
luck, there was a horn attached to my hunting clothes, and I 
blew it, to bring after us, if possible, the remainder of my live 
stock as well as the dogs. The cattle followed for a while \ but, 
before an hour had elapsed, they all ran as if mad through the 
woods, and that, sir, was the last of them. My dogs., too, 
although at all other times extremely tractable, ran after the deer 
that in bodies sprang before us, as if fully aware of the death 
that was so rapidly approaching. 

We heard blasts from the horns of our neighbors, as we pro- 
ceeded, and knew that they were in the same predicament. In- 
tent on striving the utmost to preserve our lives, I thought of a 
large lake some miles off, which might possibly check the flames ; 
and, urging my wife to whip up her horse, we set ofi* at full 
speed, making the best way we could over the fallen trees and 
the brush-heaps, which lay like so many articles placed on pur- 


A FOREST ON FIRE. 


403 


pose to keep up the terrific fires that advanced with a broad front 
upon us. 

By this time we could feel the heat ; and we were afraid 
that our horses would drop every instant. A singular kind of 
breeze was passing over our heads, and the glare of the atmos- 
phere shone over the daylight. I was sensible of a slight faint- 
ness, and iny wife looked pale. The heat had produced such a 
flush in the child’s face, that when she turned toward either of 
us, our grief and perplexity were greatly increased. Ten miles, 
you know, are soon gone over on swift horses ; but notwithstand- 
ing this, when we reached the borders of the lake, covered with 
sweat and quite exhausted, our hearts failed us. The heat of 
the smoke was insufferable, and sheets of blazing fire flew over 
us in a manner beyond belief. We reached the shore, however, 
coasted along the lake for a while, and got round to the lee side. 
There we gave up our horses, which we never saw again. Down 
among the rushes we plunged by the edge of the water, and laid 
ourselves flat, to wait the chance of escaping from being burnt 
or devoured. The water refreshed us, and we enjoyed the 
coolness. 

On went the fire, rushing and crashing through the woods. 
Such a sight may we never see ! The heavens themselves, I 
thought, were frightened, for all above us was a red glare, mixed 
with clouds of smoke, rolling and sweeping away. Our bodies 
were cool enough, but our heads were scorching, and the child, 
who now seemed to understand the matter, cried so as nearly to 
break our hearts. 

The day passed on, and we became hungry. Many wild 
beasts came plunging into the water beside us, and others swam 
across to our side and stood still. Although faint and weary, I 
i managed to shoot a porcupine, and we all tasted its flesh. The 
night passed I cannot tell you how. Smouldering fires covered 
the ground, and the trees stood like pillars of fire, or fell across 
each other. The stifling and sickening smoke still rushed over 
us, and the burnt cinders and ashes fell thick about us How 
we got through that night, I really cannot tell, for about some 
i of it I remember nothing. 

* Toward morning, although the heat did not abate, the smoko 
became less, and blasts of fresh air sometimes made their way to 
i us. When morning came all was calm, but a dismal smoke still 
i filled the air, and the smell seemed worse than ever. We were 
I now cooled enough, and shivered as if in an ague-fit ; so we re- 
( moved from the water, and went up to a burning log where we 
[ warmed ourselves. What was to become of us I did not know. 


404 STARS IN THE FOURTEENTH CONGRESS. 


My wife hugged the child to her breast, and wept bitterly ; but 
God had preserved us through the worst of the danger, and the 
flames had gone past, so I thought it would be both ungrateful 
to Him, and unmanly to despair now. Hunger once more 
pressed upon us, but this was easily remedied. Several deer 
were still standing in the water, up to the head, and I shot one 
of them. Some of its flesh was soon roasted ; and, after eating 
it, we felt wonderfully strengthened. 

By this time the blaze of the fire was beyond our sight, 
though the ground was still burning in many places, and it was 
dangerous to go among the burnt trees. After resting a while, 
and trimming ourselves, we prepared to commence our march. 
Taking up the child, I led the way over the hot ground and 
rocks j and, after two weary days and nights, during which we 
shifted in the best manner we could, we at last reached the 
^ hard woods,^ which had escaped the fire. Soon after, we came 
to a house, where we were kindly treated for a while. Since 
then, sir, I have worked hard and constantly as a lumberer; but, 
thanks to God, here we are, safe, sound, and happy V* 


STABS IN THE FOUBTEENTH CONGBESS. 

I HAVE neither time, nor strength, nor ability, to speak of the 
legislators of that day as they deserve ; nor is this the fit occasion. 
Yet the coldest or most careless nature cannot recur to such asso- 
ciates, without some touch of generous feeling. . . . 

Pre-eminent — yet not more proudly than humbly pre-eminent 
— among them, was a gentleman from South Carolina, now no 
more; the purest, the calmest, the most philosophical of our 
country’s modern statesmen. One no less remarkable for gentle- 
ness of manners, and kindness of heart, than for that passionless, 
unclouded intellect, which rendered him deserving of the praise, 
if ever man deserved it, of merely standing by, and letting reason 
argue for him. The true patriot, incapable of all selfish ambition, 
who shunned ofiice and distinction, yet served his country faith- 
fully, because he loved her. He, I mean, who consecrated, by his 
example, the noble precept, so entirely his own, that the first sta- 
tion in the republic was neither to be sought after nor declined — 
a sentiment so just and so happily expressed, that it continues to 
be repeated, because it cannot be improved. 

There was, also, a gentleman from Maryland, whose ashes now 
slumber in our cemetery. It is not long since I stood by his 


STARS IN THE FOURTEENTH CONGRESS. 405 

tomb, and recalled him, as he was then, in all the pride and 
power of his genius. Among the first of his countrymen and 
contemporaries as a jurist and statesman, first as an orator, he 
was, if not truly eloquent, the prince of rhetoricians. Nor did 
the soundness of his logic suffer anything by a comparison with 
the richness and classical purity of the language in which he 
copiously poured forth those figurative illustrations of his argu- 
ment, which enforced while they adorned it. But let others 
pronounce his eulogy. I must not. I feel as if his mighty 
spirit still haunted the scene of its triumphs, and, when I dared 
to wrong them, indignantly rebuked me. 

These names have become historical. There were others of 
whom it is more difficult to speak, because yet within the reach 
of praise or envy. For one who was, or aspired to be, a poli- 
tician, it would be prudent, perhaps wise, to avoid all mention of 
these men. Their acts, their words, their thoughts, their very 
looks, have become subjects of party controversy. But he whose 
ambition is of a higher or lower order, has no need of such re- 
serre. Talent is of no party exclusively ; nor is justice. 

Among them, but not of them, in the fearful and solitary sub- 
limity of genius, stood a gentleman from Virginia, whom it was 
superfluous to designate. Whose speeches were universally read ? 
Whose satire was universally feared ? Upon whose accents did 
this habitually listless and unlistening house hang, so frequently, 
with wrapt attention ? Whose fame was identified with that 
body for so long a period ? Who was a more dexterous debater, 
a riper scholar, better versed in the politics of our own country, 
or deeper read in the history of others ? Above all, who was 
mor€‘. thoroughly imbued with the idiom of the English language 
— more completely master of its strength, and beauty, and deli- 
cacy, or more capable of breathing thoughts of flame in words of 
magic, and tones of silver ? 

There was, also, a son of South Carolina, still in the republic, 
then, undoubtedly, the most influential member of this House. 
With a genius eminently metaphysical, he applied to politics his 
habits of analysis, abstraction, and condensation, and thus gave 
to the problems of government something of that grandeur which 
the higher mathematics have borrowed from astronomy. The 
wings of his mind were rapid, but capricious, and there were 
times when the light which flashed from them as they passed, 
glanced like a mirror in the sun, only to dazzle the beholder. 
Engrossed with his subject — careless of his words — his loftiest 
flights of eloquence were sometimes followed by colloquial or pro- 
'■ vincial barbarisms. But, though often incorrect, he was always 


406 STARS IN THE FOURTEENTH CONGRESS. 


fascinating. Language with him was merely the scaffolding of 
thought — employed to raise a dome, which, like Angelovs, he 
suspended in the heavens. 

It is equally impossible to forget, or to omit, a gentleman from 
Kentucky, whom party has since made the fruitful topic of un- 
measured panegy^ric and detraction. Of sanguine temperament, 
and impetuous character, his declamation was impavssioned, his 
retorts acrimonious. Deficient in refinement rather than in 
strength, his style was less elegant and correct than animated and 
impressive. But it swept away our feelings with it like ^ moun- 
tain torrent, and the force of the stream left you little leisure to 
remark upon its clearness. His estimate of human nature was, 
probably, not very high. It may be that his past associations had 
not tended to exalt it. Unhappily, it is, perhaps, more likely to 
have been lowered than raised by his subsequent experience. 
Yet then, and even since, except when that imprudence, so natu- 
ral to genius, prevailed over his better judgment, he had gene- 
rally the good sense, or good taste, to adopt a lofty tone of senti- 
ment, whether he spoke of measures or of men, of friend or adver- 
sary. On many occasions he was noble and captivating. One I 
can never forget. It was the fine burst of indignant eloquence 
with which he replied to the taunting question, What have we 
gained by the war 

Nor may I pass over in silence a representative from New 
Hampshire, who has almost obliterated all memory of that dis- 
tinction, by the superior fame he has attained as a senator from 
Massaclmsetts. Though then but in the bud of his political life, 
and hardly conscious, perhaps, of his own extraordinary powers, 
he gave' promise of the greatness he has achieved. The same 
vigor of thought } the same force of expression ; the short sen- 
tences ; the calm, cold, collected manner ; the air of solemn dig- 
nity; the deep, sepulchral, unimpassioned voice; all have been 
developed only, not changed, even to the intense bitterness of his 
frigid irony. The piercing coldness of his sarcasms was indeed 
peculiar to him ; they seemed to be emanations from the spirit of 
the icy ocean. Nothing could be at once so novel and so power- 
ful; it was frozen mercury becoming as caustic as red hot iron. 


THE POLAR REGIONS. 


407 


THE POLAR REGIONS. 

« 

On the twenty-third of May, 1850, the Advance and Rescue, 
fitted out by Henry Grinnell, Esq., of New York, and commanded 
by Captain DeHaven, of the United States Navy, left the harbor 
of New York, and sailed directly for the Polar Regions. In 
about twenty-five days we were embedded in ice ; and in those 
regions we witnessed, from time to time, the wild scenes which 
occur as the ice is broken up and forced into masses. 

The ice, which is generally about five feet in thickness, and 
much resembles glass, breaks with strange and fearful noises ; 
now like the whining of a puppy, then like calls of distress; and 
then, again, like the booming of cannon. I^efore, it was level, 
but now it is piled into ridges ; and, as the masses are forced upon 
each other, every variety of noise increases. 

Now low and plaintive; now shrieking wildly, and gradually 
rising to a climax of fearful intensity, under which all language 
ceases ; and then dying away into the softest cadence. These 
noises were so marked, and oftentimes so regular, as to be called 
the pulses of the ice; and from them we could generally judge 
of its movements. • 

We had no fire ; but the mercury was for weeks together many 
degrees below zero. As late as July, over seven hundred miles 
from the North Pole, I gathered a flowering ranunculus embedded 
in snow and ice. In the second week of September our casks 
were frozen, and we could get no water, except by manufacture. 

AYe quarried the icebergs, and melted them. Soon the sea 
began to freeze, our decks became dry, covered with lumps of ice, 
and the rigging was beautifully crystallized. As the cold in- 
creased, the scene was fairer. Icicles hung around the deck ; 
peaches became a mass of chalcedony ; butter was cut with a 
chisel, beef with a pick-axe and crow-bar. 

When walking out, we were conscious of a bracing atmosphere. 
Our whiskers and faces were glazed with ice ; and our tongues, if 
thrust out, were frozen to our chins; but by walking briskly 
onward, we would get into a fine glow, and often into a perspira- 
tion ; but then, if the wind arose, we had a sensation like the 
pricking of pins. In our new life, cold gave a positive character 
to our existence, almost impossible to describe. 

• We protected ourselves from metals with fur and buckskin. 
The crawl, the chill, which is, with us at home, the indications 
of varying temperature, was there unknown. In fact, it was only 
by the direct attack of cold that we were aware of it ; and oflicers 


408 


THE POLAR NIGHT. 




and men agreed that we had suffered more at home from cold. 
With such an inveterate enemy, however, we could not hope to 
escape scars, but we all returned alive. 

Wrapped in our buffalo-robes, and stretched upon the ice in 
Baffin^s Bay, late in the autumn of 1850, we were roused by the 
voice of an officer, calling upon us to hasten up. The ice-voices 
had been renewed with fearful intensity. The air was filled with 
shrieks and howls. The ice was in great commotion. On came 
the crest. The crushed ice, piled high, gradually neared us. 
The vessel trembled from the force of the continued shocks. On 
it came. Now only six yards from the vessel ; now three yards ; 
now but six feet. 

All were mute, with trembling lips ; hut suddenly the noise and 
the motion ceased. We waited for the movement to be renewed, 
but no renewal came ; and five months afterward that immense 
body of ice was still there; and the vessel was also there, encom- 
passed and enclosed by it, a monument of God’s protecting care, 
and of man’s weakness. 


THE POLAB NIGHT. 

The greatest wonder of the Polar Regions is the long night. 
It came on gradually from the middle of November, and continued 
until in February ; and the one exclamation was, O, that the day 
would come again ! I cannot describe the northern night. It is 
like painting shadows, and even Turner might hesitate. The 
sky stretched over us, ultra-marine running into blue darkness. 
As the night advanced, the great vault glittered with perpetual 
stars. The moon, though sixteen degrees from the zenith, seemed 
to be directly overhead. 

The temporary dip of some part of the zodiacal constellations 
made it only more wonderful. The great host above these shone 
in perfect splendor. During this time we had the glorious Aurora 
Borealis ; but it is not the same splendid display, neither of color 
nor light, that we see at home. It is a condensed nebulosity, a 
luminous cloud. In Lancaster Sound, it arched directly over us 
with a waving light ; but it did not alleviate our night, nor cause 
a dip of the magnetic needle. 

The Parsellini are sometimes striking. I have seen the moon 
surrounded with two halos with diagonal bands, and where they 
touched the halos there were other moons, so that we had eight 
at a time. Suddenly our topography changed. It was like 


THK POLAR NIGHT. 


400 


scoriae of lava ; then without definite surface ; then witli serrated 
margin. On our vessel changes went on. All the metals were 
covered with a dark substance, like lamp-black. 

Every man looked pale, as with long sickness. We wearied 
of doing nothing. We paced our little ship like beasts their 
cages. Of the thirty-seven inmates of our vessel, but three 
escaped scurvy. In the midst came the sun, and led in the hap- 
piest day of our wandering. At first it came very little above 
the horizon. Soon it increased, until it rose and sank in our 
familiar east and west, and the night, by the tenth of April, left 
us. Moon and stars faded ; we had entered on our long Arctic 
day. , ^ ^ 

With this period came new celestial phenomena — the parhelion 
and refraction. The parhelion, or mock sun, was constantly 
beautiful, giving us lozenge-shaped imitations of the sun. The 
effect of a sky with manifold suns may be imagined. Of refrac- 
tion, the most famous form is the mirage. This is occasioned by 
the diversion of the visual ray when passing through different 
layers of air. It is indeed an optical illusion, not distinguishable 
from reflection. 

Looking at the Polar landscape, we became conscious of strange 
distortions ; nothing was still. For a few weeks before the return 
of the sun, the horizon seemed lifted up ; then the landscape 
was like a hollow cone. We were in the midst of a vast area, of 
which we were always the centre. It seemed a massive prison, 
always closing around us. It is only in the height of summer 
that the mirage attains its full phantasmagorial splendor. 

Oriental splendors are there, and fimiiliar sights. I give, word 
by word, a paragraph from my note-book : Aug. 13th ; refrac- 

tion again, just ahead ; a little north of west, a black globe in 
the air. Is it a bird or a balloon ? It shimmers ; it has changed ; 
it is a grand-piano; nay, an anvil, large enough for Vulcan or 
Cyclops. It changes still ; it is a pair of colossal dumb-bells ; 
now it is a black globe again.^^ 

Often I have seen this effect without the sun. We have been 
called upon deck by hearing of fires. It was startling, when we 
thought of watch-fires. But I saw that Sirius was elevated by 
refraction high above the table-lands of the coast, as the teles- 
cope proved. I dwell upon this, for it was so marvellous. 

One evening, after the end of February, a plain, dark streak 
was seen stretching several leagues in the sky. Along it were 
inverted hills ; they were like great tunnels in the sky, yet each 
was of the massiveness of mountains. The land was then more 
than ninety miles off, and again subsided ; leaving us with an 



410 


A BEE-HUNT. 


ice-clad horizon. So for more than nine months we drifted a 
thousand miles; hut in June, the globe of ice around us broke, 
and, after an imprisonment of two hundred and sixty days, and 
a drift of one thousand and eighty miles, our prows cut clear 
water. 


A BEE-HUNT. 

The beautiful forest in which we were encamped abounded in 
bee-trees ; that is to say, trees in the decayed trunks of which 
wild bees had established their hives. It is surprising in what 
countless swarms the bees have overspread the far West, within 
but a moderate number of years. The Indians consider them 
the harbinger of the white man, as the buffalo is of the red man, 
and say that, in proportion as the bee advances, the Indian and 
buffalo retire. We are always accustomed to associate the hum 
of the bee-hive with the farm-house and flower-garden,' and to 
consider those industrious little animals as connected with the 
busy haunts of man ; and I am told that the wild bee is seldom to 
be met with at any great distance from the frontier. They have 
been the heralds of civilization, steadfastly preceding it as it 
advanced from the Atlantic borders; and some of the ancient 
settlers of the West pretend to give the very year when the 
honey-bee first crossed the Mississippi. The Indians with sur- 
prise found the mouldering trees of their forests suddenly teem- 
ing with ambrosial sweets ; and nothing, I am told, can exceed 
the greedy relish with which they banquet for the first time upon 
this unbought luxury of the wilderness. 

At present the honey-bee swarms in myriads in the noble 
groves and forests that skirt and intersect the prairies, and ex- 
tend along the alluvial bottoms of the rivers. It seems to me as 
if these beautiful regions answer literally to the description of 
the land of promise, a land flowing with milk and honey 
for the rich pasturage of the prairies is calculated to sustain herds 
of cattle as countless as the sands upon the sea-shore, while the 
flowers with which they are enamelled render them a very para- 
dise for the nectar-seeking bee. 

We had not been long in the camp when a party set out in 
quest of a bee-tree; and, being curious to witness the sport, I 
gladly accepted an invitation to accompany them. The party 
was headed by a veteran bee-hunter, a tall, lank fellow in home- 
spun garb, that hung loosely about his limbs, and a straw hat 
shaped not unlike a bee-hive. A comrade, equally uncouth in 


A BEE- HUNT. 


411 


garb, and without a hat, straddled along at his heels, with a long 
rifle on his shoulder. To these succeeded half a dozen others, 
some with axes and some with rifles ; for no one stirs far from 
the camp without his fire-arms, so as to be ready either for wild 
deer or wild Indian. 

After proceeding some distance, we came to an open glade, on 
the skirts of the forest. Here our leader halted, and then ad- 
vanced quietly to a low bush, on the top of which I perceived a 
piece of honey-comb. This I found was the bait or lure for the 
wild bees. Several were humming about it, and diving into its 
cells. When they had laden themselves with honey, they would 
rise into the air, and dart oiF in a straight line, almost with the 
velocity of a bullet. The hunters watched attentively the course 
they took, and then set off in the same direction, stumbling along 
over twisted roots and fallen trees, with their eyes turned up to 
the sky. In this way they traced the honey-laden bees to their 
hive, in the hollow trunk of a blasted oak, where, after buzzing 
about for a moment, they entered a hole about sixty feet from 
the ground. 

Two of the bee-hunters now plied their axes vigorously at the 
foot of the tree, to level it with the ground. The mere specta- 
tors and amateurs, in the meantime, drew off to a cautious dis- 
tance, to be out of the way of the falling of the tree and the 
vengeance of its inmates. The jarring blows of the axe seemed 
to have no eflect in alarming or disturbing this mast industrious 
community. They continued to ply at their usual occupations, 
some arriving full freighted into port, others sallying forth on 
new expeditions, like so many merchantmen in a money-making 
metropolis, little suspicious of impending bankruptcy and down- 
fall. Even a loud crack, which announced the disrupture of the 
trunk, failed to divert their attention from the intense pursuit of 
gain. At length down came the tree with a tremendous crash, 
bursting open from end to end, and displaying all the hoarded 
treasures of the commonwealth. 

One of the hunters immediately ran up with a wisp of lighted 
, hay as a defence against the bees. The latter, however, made no 
attack, and sought no revenge : they seemed stupefied by the 
catastrophe, and unsuspicious of its cause, and remained crawling 
and buzzing about the ruins without offering us any molestation. 
Every one of the party now fell to, with spoon and hunting-knife, 
to scoop out the flakes of honey-comb with which the hollow 
trunk was stored. Some of them were of old date, and a deep 
brown colors others were beautifully white ^ and the honey in 
their cells was almost limpid. Such of the combs as were entire 


412 


FIFTY YEARS AGO. 


were placed in camp-kettles, to be conveyed to the encampment ; 
those which had shivered in the fall were devoured upon the 
spot. Every stark bee-hunter was to be seen with a rich morsel 
in his hand dripping about his fingers, and disappearing as 
rapidly as a cream tart before the holiday appetite of a school^^oy. 

Nor was it the bee-hunters alone that profited by the downfall 
of this industrious community. As if the bees would carry 
through the similitude of their habits with those of laborious 
and gainful man, I beheld numbers from rival hives, arriving on 
eager wing, to enrich themselves with the ruins of their neigh- 
bors. These busied themselves as eagerly and cheerfully as so 
many wreckers on an Indiaman that has been driven on shore ; 
plunging into the cells of the broken honey-combs, banqueting 
greedily on the spoil, and then winging their way full freighted 
to their homes. As to the poor proprietors of the ruin, they 
seemed to have no heart to do anything, not even to taste the 
nectar that flowed around them, but crawled backwards and for- 
wards, in vacant desolation, as I have seen a poor fellow with his 
hands in his breeches pockets, whistling vacantly and despondingly 
about the ruins of his house that had been burnt. 

It is difficult to describe the bewilderment and confusion of the 
bees of the bankrupt hive who had been absent at the time of 
the catastrophe, and who arrived from time to time, with full 
cargoes from abroad. At fii'st they wheeled about in the air, in 
the place where the fallen tree had once reared its head, aston- 
ished at finding it all a vacuum. At length, as if comprehending 
their disaster, they settled down in clusters on a dry branch of a 
neighboring tree, from whence they seemed to contemplate the 
prostrate ruin, and to buzz forth doleful lamentations over the 
downfall of their republic. 


FIFTY YEARS AGO. 

A SONG for the early times out west, 
And our green old forest-home, 
Whose pleasant memories freshly yet 
Across the bosom come : 

A song for the free and gladsome life 
In those early days we led, 

With a teeming soil beneath our feet, 
And a smiling heaven overhead I 
Oh, the waves of life danced merrily, 
And had a joyous flow. 

In the days when we were pioneers, 
Fifty yeiirs ago I 


FIFTY YEARS AGO. 


413 


The hunt, the shot, the glorious chase, 

The captured elk or deer ; 

The camp, the big, bright fire, and then 
The rich and wholesome cheer ; 

The sweet, sound sleep, at dead of night, 
By our camp-fire blazing high — 
Unbroken by the wolf’s long howl. 

And the panther springing by. 

Oh, merrily pass’d the time, despite 
Our wily Indian foe. 

In the days when we were pioneers. 

Fifty years ago 1 

We shunn’d not labor; when ’twas duo 
We wrought with right good wdll ; 

And for the home we won for them. 

Our children bless us still. 

We lived not hermit lives, but oft 
In social converse met; 

And fires of love w’ere kindled then. 

That burn on warmly yet. 

Oh, pleasantly the stream of life 
Pursued its constant flow. 

In the days when we were pioneers. 

Fifty years ago 1 

We felt that we were fellow-men ; 

We felt we were a band 
Sustain’d here in the wilderness 
By Heaven’s upholding hand. 

And when the solemn Sabbath came, 

We gather’d in the wood. 

And lifted up our hearts in prayer 
To God, the only good. 

Our temples then were earth and sky ; 

None others did we know 
In the days when we were pioneers. 

Fifty years ago 1 

Our forest life was rough and rude. 

And dangers closed us round. 

But here, amid the green old trees. 
Freedom we sought and found. 

Oft through our dwellings wintry blasts 
Would rush with shriek and moan ; 

We cared not — though they were but frail, 
We felt they were our own ! 

Oh, free and manly lives we led. 

Mid verdure or mid snow. 

In the days when we w’ero pioneers. 

Fifty years ago ! 

85 


414 


DESCENT OF THE OHIO. 


DESCENT OF THE OHIO IN 1809. 

It was in the month of October. The autumnal tints already 
decorated the shores of that queen of rivers, the Ohio. Every 
tree was hung with long and flowing festoons of different species 
of vines, many loaded with clustered fruits of varied brilliancy, 
their rich bronzed carmine mingling beautifully with the yellow 
fuliage, which now predominated over the yet green leaves, re- 
flecting more lively tints from the clear stream than ever land- 
scape painter portrayed or poet imagined. 

The days were yet warm. The sun had assumed the rich and 
glowing hue, which at that season produces the singular pheno- 
menon called there the Indian Summer.^’ The moon had 
rather passed the meridian of her grandeur. We glided down 
the river, meeting no other ripple of the water than that formed 
by the propulsion of our boat. Leisurely we moved along, 
gazing all day on the grandeur and beauty of the wild scenery 
around us. 

Now and then a large cat-fish rose to the surface of the water 
in pursuit of a shoal of fry, which, starting simultaneously from 
the liquid element lik6 so many silvery arrows, produced a shower 
of light, while the pursuer, with open jaws, seized the stragglers, 
and, with a splash of his tail, disappeared from our view. Other 
fishes we heard uttering beneath our bark a rumbling noise, the 
strange sounds of which we discovered to proceed from the white 
perch, for, on casting our net from the bow, we caught several 
of that species, when the noise ceased for a time. 

Nature, in her varied arrangements, seems to have felt a par- 
tiality toward this portion of our country. As the traveller as- 
cends or descends the Ohio, he cannot help remarking that, alter- 
nately, nearly the whole length of the river, the margin, on one 
side, is bounded by lofty hills and a rolling surface, while on the 
other, extensive plains of the richest alluvial land are seen as far 
as the eye can command the view. Islands of varied size and 
form rise here and there from the bosom of the water, and the 
winding course of the stream frequently brings you to places, 
where the idea of being on a river of a great length changes to 
that of floating on a lake of moderate extent. Some of these 
islands are of considerable size and value; while others, small 
and insignificant, seem as if intended for contrast, and as serving 
to enhance the general interest of the scenery. . These little 
islands are frequently overflowed during great freshets or floods, 
and receive at their heads prodigious heaps of drifted timber. 


DESCENT OF THE OHIO. 


415 


We foresaw with great concern the alteration that cultivation 
would soon produce along those delightful banks. 

As night came, sinking in darkness the broader portions of the 
river, our minds became affected by strong emotions, and wan- 
dered far beyond the present moments. The tinkling of bells 
told us that the cattle which bore them were gently roving from 
valley to valley in search of food, or returning to their distant 
homes. The hooting of the Great Owl, or the muffled noise of 
its wings as it sailed smoothly over the stream, were matters of 
interest to us ; so was the sound of the boatman^s horn, as it 
came winding more and more softly from afar. When daylight 
returned, many songsters burst forth with echoing notes, more 
and more mellow to the listening ear. Here and there the lonely 
cabin of a squatter struck the eye, giving note of commencing 
civilization. The crossing of the stream by a deer foretold how 
soon the hills would be covered with snow. 

Many sluggish flat-boats we overtook and passed : some laden 
with produce from the different headwaters of the small rivers 
that pour their tributary streams into the Ohio ; others, of less 
dimensions, crowded with emigrants from distant parts, in search 
of a new home. Purer pleasures I never felt; nor have you, 
reader, I ween, unless indeed you have felt the like, and in such 
company. 

When I think of the times, and call back to my mind the 
grandeur and beauty of those almost uninhabited shores ; when I 
picture to myself the dense and lofty summits of the forest, that 
everywhere spread along the hills, and overhung the margins of 
the stream, unmolested by the axe of the settler; when I know 
how dearly purchased the safe navigation of that river has been 
by the blood of many worthy Virginians ; when I see that no 
longer any aborigines are to be found there, and that the vast 
herds of elks, deer, and bufialoes which once pastured on these 
hills and in these valleys, making for themselves great roads to 
the several salt-springs, have ceased to exist; when I reflect that 
all this grand portion of our Union, instead of being in a state 
of nature, is now more or less covered with villages, farms, and 
towns, where the din of hammers and machinery is constantly 
heard ; that the woods are fast disappearing under the axe by 
day, and the fire by night ; that hundreds of steamboats are glid- 
ing to and fro, over the whole length of the majestic river, 
forcing commerce to take root and to prosper at every spot ; when 
I see the surplus population of Europe coming to assist in the 
destruction of the forest, and transplanting civilization into ito 
darkest recesses; when I remember that these extraordinary 


416 


CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION. 


changes have all taken place in the short period of twenty years, 
I pause, I wonder, and, although I know all to be the fact, can 
scarcely believe its reality. 

Whether these changes are for the better or for the worse, I 
shall not pretend to say ; but in whatever way my conclusions may 
incline, I feel with regret that there are on record no satisfactory 
accounts of the state of that portion of the country, from the time 
when our people first settled in it. This has not been because 
no one in America is able to accomplish such an undertaking. 
Our Irvings and our Coopers have proved themselves fully 
competent for the task. It has more probably been because the 
changes have succeeded each other with such rapidity, as almost 
to rival the movements of their pens. However, it is not too late 
yet; and I sincerely hope that either or both of them will ere 
long furnish the generations to come with those delightful de- 
scriptions which they are so well qualified to give, of the original 
state of a country that has been so rapidly forced to change her 
form and attire under the influence of increasing population. 
Yes ; I hope to read, ere I close my earthly career, accounts 
from those delightful writers of the progress of civilization in our 
western country. They wdll speak of the Clarks, the Cro- 
GiiANS, the Boons, and many other men of great and daring enter- 
prise. They will analyse, as it were, into each component part, 
the country as it once existed, and will render the picture, as it 
ought to be, immortal. 


FOR THE CHARLESTOWN CENTENNIAL 

CELEBRATION. 

Two hundred years ! two hundred years I 
How much of human power and pride, 

What glorious hopes, what gloomy fears 
Have sunk beneath their noiseless tide 1 

The red man at his horrid rite, 

Seen by the stars at night’s cold noon, 

His bark canoe, its track of light 
Left on the wave beneath the moon ; 

His dance, his yell, his council-fire, 

The altar w’here his victim lay. 

His death-song, and his funeral pyre. 

That still, strong tide hath borne away. 


417 


OUR WHOLE COUNTRY. 

And that pale pilgrim band is gone, 

That on this shore with trembling trod. 

Ready to faint, yet bearing on 
The ark of freedom and of God. 

And war — that since o^er ocean came, 

And thunderM loud from yonder hill, 

And wrappM its foot in sheets of flame, 

To blast that ark — its storm is still. 

Chief, sachem, sage, bards, heroes, seers, 
That live in story and in song. 

Time, for the last two hundred years, 

Has raised, and shown, and swept along. 

'Tis like a dream when one awakes. 

This vision of the scenes of old ; 

^Tia like the moon when morning breaks, 
^Tis like a tale round watchfires told. 

Then what are we? then what are we? 
Yea, when two hundred years have rolFd 

O^er our green graves, our names shall be 
A morning dream, a tale that^s told. 

God of our fathers, in w^hose sight 
The thousand years that swept away 

Man and the traces of his might. 

Are but the break and close of day — 

Grant us that love of truth sublime. 

That love of goodness and of thee, 

That makes thy children in all time 
To share thine own eternity. 


OUR WHOLE COUNTRY. 

Who would sever freedom's shrine ? 
Who would draw the invidious line? 
Though by birth one spot be mine, 
Dear is all the rest. 

Dear to me the South^s fair land. 
Dear the central mountain band. 
Dear New England's rocky strand, 
Dear the prairied West. 


418 THE INDIAN AS HE WAS AND AS HE IS. 


By our altars, pure .and free ; 

By our laws^ deep-rooted tree ; 

By the pavst’s dread memory ; 

By our Washington ; 

By our common parent tongue : 

By our hopes, bright, buoyant, young ; 
By the tie of country strong, 

We will still be one. 

Fathers ! have ye bled in vain ? 

Ages ! must ye droop again ! 

Maker ! shall we rashly stain 
Blessings sent by Thee? 

No I receive our solemn vow, 

While before Thy shrine we bow, 

Ever to maintain as now, 

Union — Liberty 1 


THE INDIAN AS HE WAS AND AS HE IS. 

Not many generations ago, where you now sit circled with all 
that exalts and embellishes civilized life, the rank thistle nodded 
to the wind and the wild fox dug his hole unscared. Here lived 
and loved another race of beings. Beneath the same sun that 
rolls over your heads the Indian hunter pursued the panting deer; 
gazing on the same moon that smiles for you, the Indian lover 
wooed his dusky mate. 

Here the wigwam blaze beamed on the tender and helpless, the 
council-fire glared on the wise and daring. Now they paddled the 
light canoe along your rocky shores. Here they warred; the 
echoing whoop, the bloody grapple, the defying death-song, all 
were here ; and when the tiger strife was over here curled the 
smoke of peace. . 

Here, too, they worshipped; and from many a dark bosom went 
up a pure prayer to the Great Spirit. He had not written his 
laws for them on tablets of stone, but he had traced them on the 
tablets of their hearts. The poor child of nature knew not the 
God of revelation, but the God of the universe he acknowledged 
in everything around. 


THE INDIAN AS HE WAS AND AS HE IS. 419 


He beheld him in the star that sunk in beauty behind his 
lonel}^ dwelling; in the sacred orb that flamed on him from his 
mid-day throne ; in the flower that snapped in the morning breeze; 
in the lofty pine that defied a thousand whirlwinds ; in the timid 
warbler that never left his native grove; in the fearless eagle, 
whose untired pinion was wet in clouds ; in the worm that crawled 
at his feet ; and in his own matchless form, glowing with a spark 
of that light to whose mysterious Source he bent in humble, 
though blind, adoration. 

And all this has passed away. Across the ocean came a pil- 
grim bark, bearing the seeds of life and death. The former were 
sown for you — the latter sprang up in the path of the simple na- 
tive. Two hundred years have changed the character of a great 
continent, and blotted forever from its face a whole peculiar peo- 
ple. Art has usurped the bowers of nature, and the anointed 
children of education have been too powerful for the tribes of the 
ignorant. 

Here and there a stricken few remain ; but how unlike their 
bold, untamed, untameable progenitors ! The Indian of falcon 
glance and lion bearing, the theme of the touching ballad, the 
hero of the pathetic tale, is gone ! and his degraded offspring 
crawl upon the soil where he walked in majesty, to remind us how 
miserable is man when the foot of the conqueror is on his neck. 

As a race, they have withered from the land. Their arrows 
are broken, their springs are dried up, their cabins in the dust. 
Their council-fire has long since gone out on the shore, and their 
war-cry is fast dying to the untrodden west. Slowly and sadly 
they climb the distant mountains, and read their doom in the set- 
ting sun. They are shrinking before the mighty tide which is 
pressing them away ; they must soon hear the roar of the last 
wave, which will settle over them forever. 

Ages hence the inquisitive white man, as he stands by some 
growing city, will ponder on the structure of their disturbed re- 
mains, and wonder to what manner of person they belonged. 
I' They will live only in the songs and chronicles of their extermi- 
nators. Let these be faithful to their rude virtue as men, and 
; pay due tribute to their unhappy fate as a people. 


420 


MIKE FINK. 


THE CAPTIVE CHIEF. 

Pale was the hue of his faded cheek, 

As it leaned on his cold, damp pillow ; 

And deep the heave of his troubled breast 
As the lift of the ocean billow ; 

For he thought of the days when his restless foot 
Through the pathless forest bounded. 

And the festive throng by the hunting fire, 

Where the chase-song joyously sounded. 

He had stood in the deadly ambuscade, 

While his warriors were falling around him : 

He had stood unmoved at the torturing stake, 
Where the foe in his wTath had bound him ; 

He had mocked at pain in every form. 

Had joyed in the sport of danger ; 

But his spirit was crushed by the dungeon’s gloom, 
And the chain of the ruthless stranger. 

I will go to my tent, and lie down in despair; 

I will paint me with black, and will sever my hair ; 

I will sit on the shore where the hurricane blows. 

And reveal to the god of the tempest my woes ; 

I will weep for a season, on bitterness fed, 

For my kindred are gone to the hills of the dead ; 

But they die not of hunger, or lingering decay ; 

The steel of the white man hath swept them away. 


MIKE FINK, THE LAST OF THE BOATMEN. 

I EMBARKED a few years since, at Pittsburg, for Cincinnati, on 
board a steamboat, more with a view of realizing the possibility 
of a speedy return against the current, than in obedience to the 
call of either business or pleasure. 

AVhen we left, the season was not far advanced in vegetation. 
But as we proceeded, the change was more rapid than the differ- 
ence of latitude justified. I had frequently observed this in former 
voyages ; but it never was so striking as on the present occasion. 
The old mode of travelling in the sluggish flat-boat seemed to give 
time for the change of season ; but now a few hours carried us 
into a different climate. We met Spring, with all her laughing 
train of flowers and verdure, rapidly advancing from the south. 
The buckeye, cottonwood, and maple had already assumed, in this 


MIKE FINK. 


421 


i 

region, the rich livery of summer. The thousand varieties of the 
floral kingdom spread a gay carpet over the luxuriant meadows on 
each side of the river. The thick woods resounded with the notes 
of the feathered tribe — each striving to outdo his neighbor in 
' noise, if not in melody. We had not reached the region of paro- 
quets j but the clear-toned whistle of the cardinal was heard in 
every bush; and the cat-bird was endeavoring, with its usual 
zeal, to rival the powers of the more gifted mocking-bird. 

A few hours brought us to one of those stopping points known 
by the name of “ wooding-places.^^ It was situated immediately 
above Letart^s Falls. The boat, obedient to the wheel of the 
pilot, made a graceful sweep towards the island above the falls, 
and rounding to, approached the wood pile. As the boat drew 
near the shore, the escape steam reverberated through the forest 
and hills like the chafed bellowing of the caged tiger. The root 
of a tree, concealed beneath the water, prevented the boat from 
getting sufficiently near the bank, and it became necessary to use 
the paddles to take a different position. 

Back out ! and try it again exclaimed a voice from the 
shore. Throw your pole wide, and brace off, or you^ll run 
: against a snag.^^ 

This was a kind of language long familiar to us on the Ohio, 
i It was a sample of the slang of the keel-boatmen. 

The speaker was immediately cheered by a dozen of voices from 
the deck ; and I recognised in him the person of an old acquaint- 
ance, familiarly known to me from my boyhood. He was leaning 
carelessly against a large beech, and as his left arm carelessly 
pressed a rifle to his side, presented a figure that Salvator would 
have chosen from a million, as a model for his wild and moody 
pencil. His stature was upwards of six feet, his proportions per- 
fectly symmetrical, and exhibiting the evidence of herculean 
powers. 

To a stranger he would have seemed a complete mulatto. Long 
exposure to the sun and weather on the Lower Ohio and Missis- 
sippi had changed his skin ; and, but for the fine European cast 
'■ of his countenance, he might have passed for the principal war- 
rior of some powerful tribe. Although at least fifty years of age, 
his hair was as black as the wing of the raven. Next to his skin 
1 he wore a red flannel shirt, covered by a blue capote, ornamented 
T with white fringe. On his feet were moccasins; and a broad 
leathern belt, from which hung, suspended in a sheath, a largo 
knife, encircled his waist. 

As soon as the steamboat became stationary, the cabin passen- 
gers jumped on shore. . On ascending the bank, the figure I have 

j S6 

I 


422 


MIKE FINK. 


just described advanced to offer me his hand. How are you, 
Mike?’^ said I. How goes it?^^ replied the boatman, grasping 
my hand with a squeeze I can compare to nothing but that of a 
blacksmith^s vice. I am glad to see you,^^ he continued, in his 
abrupt manner. I am going to shoot at the tin cup for a quart 
— off-hand — and you must be judge.^^ 

I understood Mike at once, and on any other occasion should 
have remonstrated, and prevented the daring trial of skill. But 
I was accompanied by a couple of English tourists, who had 
scarcely ever been beyond the sound of Bow bells, and who were 
travelling post over the United States to make up a book of obser- 
vation on our manners and customs. There were, also, among 
the passengers, a few bloods from Baltimore and Philadelphia, 
who could conceive of nothing equal to Howard or Chestnut 
Street, and who expressed great disappointment at not being 
able to find terrapins and oysters at every village. My tramon- 
tane pride was aroused, and I resolved to give them an opportu- 
nity of seeing a western lion — for such Mike undoubtedly was — 
in all his glory. The philanthropist may start, and accuse me of 
a want of humanity. I deny the charge, and refer, for apology, 
to one of the best understood principles of human nature. 

Mike, followed by several of his crew, led the way to a beech 
grove, some little distance from the landing. I invited my fellow- 
passengers to witness the scene. On arriving at the spot, a stout, 
bull-headed boatman, dressed in a hunting-shirt, but barefooted, 
in whom I recognised a younger brother of Mike, took a tin cup, 
which hung from his belt, and placed it on his head. Although 
I had seen this feat performed before, I acknowledge I felt un- 
easy, whilst this silent preparation was going on. But I had not 
much time for reflection, for this second Albert exclaimed, — 
Blaze away, Mike, and let^s have the quart.^^ 

My travelling companions, as soon as they recovered from the 
first effect of their astonishment, exhibited a disposition to inter- 
fere. But Mike, throwing back his left leg, levelled his rifle at 
the head of his brother. In this horizontal position the weapon 
remained for some seconds as immovable as if the arm that held it 
was affected by no pulsation. 

Elevate your piece a little lower, Mike, or you will lose,'' 
cried the imperturbable brother. 

I know not if the advice was obeyed ; but the sharp crack of 
the rifle immediately followed, and the cup flew off thirty or forty 
yards, rendered unfit for future service. There was a cry of 
admiration from the strangers, who pressed forward to see if the 
foolhardy boatman was really safe. He remained as immovable 


MIKE FINK. 


423 


as if he had been a figure hewn out of stone. He had not even 
winked, when the ball struck the cup within two inches of his 
head. 

Mike has won I exclaimed ; and my decision was the signal 
which, according to their rules, permitted him of the target to 
remove from his position. No more sensation was exhibited 
among the boatmen than if a common wager had been won. The 
bet being decided, they hurried back to their boat, giving me 
and my friends an invitation to partake of “ the treat.'' We de- 
clined, and took leave of the thoughtless creatures. In a few 
moments afterwards, we observed their ‘^keel" wheeling into the 
current, the gigantic form of Mike bestriding the large steering 
oar, and the others arranging themselves in their places in front 
of the cabin, that extended nearly the whole length of the boat, 
covering merchandise of immense value. As they left the shore, 
they gave the Indian yell, and broke out into a sort of unconnected 
chorus, commencing with, — 

“Hard upon the beech oar ! 

She moves too slow ! 

All the wav to Shawneetown, 

Long while ago.'' 


MIKE FINK, THE LAST OF THE BOATMEN. 

(concluded.) 

Our travellers returned to the boat lost in speculation on the 
scene, and the beings they had just beheld ; and no doubt the 
circumstance has been related a thousand times, with all the 
necessary amplifications of finished tourists. 

Mike Fink may be viewed as the correct represcnkitive of a 
class of men now extinct, but who once possessed as marked a 
character as that of the gypsies of England, or the lazzaroni of 
Naples. The period of their existence was not more than a third 
of a century. The character was created by the introduction of 
trade on the western waters, and ceased with the successful esta- 
blishment of the steamboat. 

Notwithstanding this, the boatman's life had charms as irre- 
sistible as those presented by the illusions of the stage. Sons 
abandoned the comfortable farms of their fathers, and apprentices 
fled from the service of their masters. There was a .captivation 
in the idea of going down the river," and the youthful boatinan 
who had pushed a keel " from New Orleans felt all the pride 


424 


MIKE FINK. 


of a young merchant after his first voyage to an English seaport. 
From an exclusive association together, they had formed a kind 
of slang peculiar to themselves; and from the constant exercise 
of wit with the squatters on shore, and crews of other boats, 
they acquired a quickness and sharpness of retort that was quite 
amusing. 

On board of the boats thus managed, our merchants intrusted 
valuable cargoes, without insurance, and with no other guaranty 
than the receipt of the steersman, who possessed no other property 
than his boat; and the confidence thus reposed was seldom 
abused. 

Among these men, Mike Fink stood an acknowledged leader 
for many years. Endowed by nature with those qualities of intel- 
lect that give the possessor power, he would have been a conspi- 
cuous member of any society in which his lot might have been 
cast. An acute observer of human nature has remarked, Op- 
portunity alone makes the hero. Change but their situations, and 
Caesar would have been but the best wrestler on the green.^' 
With a figure cast in a mould that added much of the symmetry 
of an Apollo to the limbs of a Hercules, he possessed gigantic 
strength, and his character was noted for the most daring intre- 
pidity. At the court of Charlemagne, he might have been a Ro- 
land ; with the Crusaders, he would have been the favorite with 
the knight of the lion heart; and in our revolution, he would 
have ranked with the Morgans and Putnams cf the day. 

He was the hero of a hundred fights, and the leader of a thou- 
sand daring adventures. From Pittsburg to St. Louis, and New 
Orleans, every farmer on the shore kept on good terms with Mike 
— otherwise there was no safety for his property. W^herever he 
was an enemy, like his great prototype Rob Roy, he levied the 
contribution of black mail for the use of his boat. Often at night, 
when his tired companions slept, he would take an excursion of 
four or five miles, and return before morning rich in spoil. On 
the Ohio, he was known as the Snapping Turtle,'^ and on the 
Mississippi, as the Snag.^^ 

At the early age of seventeen, Mike^s character was displayed 
by enlisting himself in a corps of scouts — a body of irregular ran- 
gers employed on the north-western frontier of Pennsylvania to 
watch the Indians and give notice of any threatened inroad. 

In this corps, while yet a stripling, Mike acquired a reputation 
for boldness and cunning far beyond his companions. A thou- 
sand legends illustrate the fearlessness of his character. There 
was one which he told himself with much pride, and which made 
an indelible impression on my boyish memory. He had been out 


I 


MIKE FINK. 425 

^ on the hills of Mahoning, when, to use his own words, he ^^saw 
’ signs of Indians about.'^ He had discovered the recent print of 
I the moccasin in the grass ; and found drops of the fresh blood 
< of a deer on the green bush. He became cautious, skulked for 
some time in the deepest thickets of hazel and brier, and for seve- 
ral days did not discharge his rifle. He subsisted patiently on 
parched corn and jerk, which he had dried on his first conjing 
into the woods. He gave no alarm to the settlements, because ho 
discovered, with perfect certainty, that the enemy consisted of a 
small hunting party who were receding from the Alleghany. 

As he was creeping along one morning with the stealthy tread 
of a cat, his eye fell on a beautiful buck, browsing on the edge of 
a barren spot three hundred yards distant. The temptation was 
too strong for the woodsman, and he resolved to have a shot, at 
all hazards. Hepriming his gun, and picking his flint, he made 
his approaches in the usual noiseless manner, and at the moment 
he reached the spot from which he meant to take his aim, he 
observed a large savage, intent upon the same object, and advanc- 
ing in a direction a little different from his own. Mike shrank 
behind a tree, with the cjuickness of thought, and keeping his eye 
fixed on the hunter, waited the result with patience. In a few 
moments, the Indian halted within fifty paces, and levelled his 
piece at the deer. In the mean while, Mike presented his rifle 
at the body of the savage, and at the moment that the smoko 
issued from the gun of the latter, the bullet of Fink passed through 
the red man^s breast. He uttered a yell, and fell dead at the 
same ‘instant with the deer. Mike reloaded his rifle, and re- 
mained in his covert for some minutes, to ascertain whether there 
wore more enemies at hand. He then stepped up to the prostrate 
savage, and satisfying himself that life was extinguished, turned 
his attention to the buck, and took from the carcass those pieces 
suited to the process of jerking. 

In the mean time, the country was filling up with a white 
population ; and in a few years, the red men, with the exception 
of a few fractions of tribes, gradually receded to the lakes, and 
beyond the Mississippi. The corps of scouts was abolished, after 
having acquired habits which unfitted them for the pursuits of 
civilized society. Some incorporated themselves with the In- 
dians ; and others, from a strong attachment to their erratic mode 
of life, joined the boatmen, then just becoming a distinct class. 
Among these w'as our hero, Mike Fink, whose talents were soon 
developed ; and for many years he was as celebrated on the riveis 
of the West as he had been in the woods. 

Some years after the period at which I have dated my visit to 


♦ 


426 


CAPTURE OF SANTA ANNA, 


Cincinnati, business called me to New Orleans. On board tbe 
steamboat on which I had embarked at Louisville, I recognised 
in the pilot one of those men who had formerly been a patroon, 
01 keel-boat captain. I entered into conversation with him on 
the subject of his former associates. They are scattered in all 
directions,^^ said he. “A few who had capacity have become 
pilots of steamboats. Many have joined the trading parties that 
cross the Kocky Mountains, and a few have settled down as 
farmers.’^ 

What has become,’^ I asked, of my old acquaintance, Mike 
Fink “ Mike was killed at last,^^ replied the pilot. He had 
refused several good offers on steamboats. He said he could not 
bear the hissing of steam, and he wanted room to throw his pole. 
He went to the Missouri, and about a year since was shooting the 
tin cup when he had been drinking too much. He elevated too 
low, and shot his companion through the head. A friend of the 
deceased, suspecting foul play, shot Mike through the heart 
before he had time to reload his rifle.^^ With Mike Fink expired 
the spirit of the boatmen. 


CAPTURE OF SANTA ANNA. 

The sun rose bright and beautiful on the morning of the 21st 
of April, 1836, and shone with an unwonted brilliancy oyer one 
of those vast savannahs so characteristic of our south-western 
borders. Its earliest beams shone full in the face of the lion- 

✓ 

hearted hero of modern Texas, as he lay sleeping at the foot of a 
solitary post-oak which stood a little apart from a grove of timber 
on the edge of one of those vast prairies. The noisy bustle of 
the camp which surrounded him betokened preparations for the 
stirring scenes of battle, and all, save he, seemed wrought to the 
highest pitch of excitement and activity, in anticipation of the 
day. Tired, worn, and weary, he had thrown himself at the foot 
of this monarch of the forest, with his head resting upon a coil 
of rope for a pillow, to snatch from the passing moments a brief 
repose from the arduous duties of command. 

Arousing himself as the first beam of the coming orb of day 
shone full in his face, he sprang to his feet, and, casting his eyes 
upon that luminary, exclaimed — The sun of Austerlitz has risen 
again. ^T was the natal day of Texan independence. The little 
band of seven hundred brave and determined men who woke that 
day to do battle for their country’s cause, were about to eonfrout 




CAPTURE OF SANTA ANNA. 


427 


a force of three times their number, commanded by the Mexican 
Napoleon, in defence of their lives, their liberties, and their homes. 
The fate of Texas rested with that little army, and the events of 
that day were to decide whether, like a scourged whelp, she was 
to lie supine at the feet of her tyrant, and lick the hand that 
chastised her, or, like the glorious eagle-bird of America, she was 
to soar on the wings of freedom, to take her place among the free 
and independent nations of the earth. 

As that sun went down the western horizon, his departing rays 
rested upon the person of that war-worn hero, reclining upon the 
same rude and rugged couch from which it awakened him at its 
coming on the birth of that eventful day. But how different the 
scenes. Then, two thousand men, in serried ranks, and in all 
the pride and pomp of glorious war,^' awaited with the utmost 
confidence the onset of that brave and devoted little band, who, 
to all appearances, were rushing into the embrace of certain death. 
Now his fading light shone upon groups of fugitives flying in 
desperate haste from that fearful and blood}^ field ; while the 
thrilling and awful battle-cry — Remember the Alamo sound- 
ing at their heels, precipitated their headlong flight. One half 
their number lay stiff and cold where the knives and rifle-balls 
of their enemies had laid them ; scores had fallen, as they fled, 
under the revengeful blows of the pursuers, and great numbers 
had sunk in death in the morass and bayou, which were bridged 
over with the carcasses of men, horses, and mules. The victory 
was won, and Texan independence had been gained. Those noble- 
hearted, brave, and hardy men returned to their camp, and laid 
them down to rest, conscious that the possession of all those che- 
rished privileges for which they had so desperately fought, was 
theirs. 


Eight hundred Mexicans were prisoners in the hands of their 
enemies ; but the prize, without which the victory would have 
been incomplete, had escaped their grasp. ‘‘ The Napoleon of 
the West'' — the Dictator of iMexico, had not been taken. Early 
on the morning of the following day, Houston sent out various 
parties in pursuit of the fugitive. You will find the 'Hero of 
Tampico,' " said Houston, “ if you find him at all, making his 
retreat on all fours, and he will be dressed as bad, at least, as a 
common soldier. Examine closely every man you find. 

Lieutenant Sylvester, a volunteer from Cincinnati,^ was riding 
^yer the prairie on a fine horse, about three o clock in the after- 
^noon, when he saw* a man making his way toward A ince s Bridge. 
The moment he found himself pursued, the fugitive fell down in 
the grass. Sylvester dashed on in that direction, and his horse 


428 


CAPTURE OF SANTA ANNA. 


came very Dear trampling him down. The man sprang to his 
feet, and apparently without the slightest surprise looked his cap- 
tor full in the face. He was disguised in a miserable rustic dress. 

He wore a skin cap, a round jacket, and pantaloons of blue do- 
mestic cotton, with a pair of soldier s coarse shoes. But his face 
and his manners bespoke too plainly that he belonged to a differ- 
ent class than his garb betokened ; and underneath his coarse dis- 
guise Sylvester saw that he wore a shirt of the finest cambric. 

“ You are an officer, I perceive, sir,^^ said the horseman, touching 
his hat politely. No, soldier,^^ was his reply, and he drew out { 
a letter in Spanish, addressed to Almonte. When he saw there i 
was no hope of escape, he inquired for General Houston. By this j 
time Sylvester had been joined by several of his comrades, and I 
mounting his prisoner behind him, they rode off’ together to the | 
camp, several miles distant. As he passed the Mexican prisoners, I 
they exclaimed with the greatest surprise, as they lifted up their 
caps — El FraudenteV^ 

Humbled and dejected the prisoner was conducted into the pre- 
sence of his conqueror, whom he found lying asleep, endeavoring 
to regain a portion of that strength upon which the superhuman 
exertions of the day previous, together with a serious and painful 
wound, had made such large and exhausting draughts. Fearful 
that the exasperated feelings of the Texans might lead them to 
revenge the murders of the Alamo and Goliad upon his person, 
he hastened to awaken the sleeping hero, that he might place 
himself under his protection as a prisoner of war, knowing full 
well that his only safety lay in the honor of his captor. Starting 
from his doze, Houston recognised the person of the President, 
and felt himself amply rewarded for all the trials, suffering, and 
privation he had endured, in finding the hated and hateful oppres- 
sor of his country in his power. Waving his hand to a box which 
stood near, the only convenient seat at hand, he sent for Almonte, 
who spoke English perfectly, to act as interpreter. 

Notwithstanding the highly exasperated feelings of his men, 
who could scarcely be restrained from venting their rage upon the 
author of the cold-blooded massacres of their friends and coun- 
trymen, the prisoner was treated with all the attention and con- 
sideration to which his rank and station entitled him. His own 
marquee, together with all his luggage, was given him, and a 
guard was stationed to protect him from the danger of assassina- 
tion by the enraged men who surrounded him. Houston knew 
that the eyes of the civilized world were turned toward Texas at 
the present crisis, and felt that a want of magnanimity in this 
her hour of victory would be the death blow to her hopes of re- 


PIONEER LIFE IN THE WEST. 


429 


I 

} cognition as an independent State. It was not, therefore, witli- 
I out great anxiety, that he watched over the safety of his charge, 
and although suffering the most acute agony from a severe wound,* 
r by which his ankle joint had been shattered, his most anxious 
! attention was given to the comfort and security of the Mexican 
( General. 

The government,'^ who had fled in every direction previous 
to the battle, was called together, and Santa Anna given up to 
them. For seven months he was kept a close prisoner in the 
hands of his captors. Meantime a new government had been in- 
j augurated, with the Hero of San Jacinto" at the head of it. 

The people of Texas clamored for the trial and execution of the 
( Dictator, and the Congress of the new republic pavssed an edict 
bringing him to trial, but Houston vetoed it, and restored him to 
5 liberty on his own responsibility. How many valuable lives would 
t have been saved, how much suffering and misery would have 
been spared, and how different might have been the position of 
the United States at the present time, had his life been taken, is 
a question we are not bound to solve. An all-wise Providence 
directed the course of events — and, we are bound to believe, for 
1 the best. 


PIONEER LIFE IN THE WEST. 

The following narrative of experience is by no means a fancy 
sketch, nor is it too highly colored ; on the contrary, it is but an 
outline, the filling up of which would bring out into startling re- 
lief many details which now appear unimportant, perhaps, but 
which in actual experience are oftentimes the most serious depri- 
vations and difficulties. It may serve, however, to convey to the 
: minds of my readers some faint idea of the trials, distress, and 
grievous hardships which were the lot of those who cleared the 
way for the footsteps of civilization ; and for this reason I have 
, introduced it. 

^^I emigrated to Ohio in 1802, when there were but few set- 
tlements interspersed through the State ; all was new, rugged, and 
desolate. I was a young man, with nothing to depend upon but 
my own hands for my daily bread. It is true, I had health, 
strength, and determination, but of all this world’s goods I was 
lamentably deficient. I had no trade or calling, no friends, no 
prospects ) the world was before me. The western country was 
i beginning to attract the attention of the residents of the more 
i thickly settled States, and I made up my mind to try my luck as 


I 


430 


PIONEER LIFE IN THE WEST. 


a pioneer in the wilderness. Thanks to my good-looking face, I 
was enabled to purchase fifty acres of laud in the State of Ohio, 
for which I gave promises to pay. 

Behold me, then, on my farm in the midst of the primeval 
woods. The nearest neighbor was about three miles in one direc- 
tion and about three and a half in another. My house was built 
of poles cut in the forest, which were covered with bark, boughs, 
and whatever else would serve to shed the rain and protect me 
from the wind and cold night air. It was about seven feet long 
by four wide, and open towards the south 3 in fact, it was a mere 
^ean-to’ shed, open on the ^lean-to’ side. A loaf or two of bread, 
a little salt pork, some corn, and a few potatoes, with a tin kettle, 
a good gun, an axe, and a frying-pan, constituted the whole cata- 
logue of my movables and provisions. With these and a light 
heart I set to work to clear my farm and keep house. I had no 
company, unless it was the bears and wolves, who used to pay me 
frequent visits, which I was not very punctilious in returning. 
For nearly a month I did not see a human being, and at the end 
of two I made up my mind to call upon my nearest neighbor, who 
lived on the river, and the road to whose house was two miles ofi’ 
through the woods. 

My neighbor had daughters, and I became a frequent visitor, 
until, by a little persuasion, I induced one of them to link her 
destiny with mine. A new house now became necessary, and I 
built, with the assistance of my neighbors, a log cabin about six- 
teen feet square, with daubed walls, a stick chimney, and ^all the 
modern improvements,^ into which we moved the day after we 
were married. My wife’s dowry consisted of a straw bed, a spin- 
ning-wheel, three pewter plates, a pitcher, and a Dutch oven; 
other furniture we had none, and for two or three days I was very 
busy in supplying its place in the best way I could. For a bed- 
stead I drove down a stake in the floor — which was the hard 
trodden ground — about five feet from the wall one way, and about 
six feet the other. I then took two poles for the rails, one end 
being inserted in the cracks between the logs of the house, and 
the other in the stake; some slabs were then split out, which 
were laid from the side rail to the cracks, and thus was our bed- 
stead made. 

On this we laid our straw bed, and I never enjoyed sweeter 
or more refreshing sleep than I did on that home-made bedstead. 
A table was next made by driving two forked sticks into the 
floor, from which two short pieces extended to a crack about the 
right height, and on these were laid split slabs, forming a very 
good substitute for a table. I borrowed a jack-knife of mj 


PIONEER LIFE IN THE WEST. 


431 


, father-in-law, and with it made out of hard wood two knives and 
forks, and what answered for a couple of spoons. Our chairs 
; were rather hard, being made by sawing the butts from two me- 
dium sized hickory trees, and stripping off the bark ; but they 
answered every purpose, and we were content — aye, and as happy 
as a king in his palace. 

year passed on, bringing with it new wants and deficien- 
cies; among other things, some baby-linen was needed, and I 
started for the nearest town, six miles distant, to procure the ne- 
cessary supply, but found upon arriving there that I had neither 
money nor credit, and was obliged to return without it. This was 
a sad blow to our hopes; but my wife, with a cheerful heart, cut 
up a pair of thin pantaloons of mine, and made a shift to make a 
1 frock, and the child was dressed. 

^^When the long winter evenings came, I was at a loss how to 
pass the dreary hours from sunset to bed-time. To sleep them 
away like the brutes was too great a waste of valuable time ; be- 
sides, I was extremely anxious to improve my mind by reading. 
A library at the nearest town afforded this opportunity, but I 
lacked lights. Pine knots from the adjacent forest at length sup- 
plied this deficiency, and many a night have I passed reading to 
i my wife, while her busy hands were engaged in carding or spin- 
ning. 

“By-and-by the payments for my land became due, but money 
' was a scarce thing in my domicil, and I was a^iost reduced tb 
despair. By bartering and a little credit (my cr^it had improved 
since I had become a man of family), I came in possession of a 
lot of steers, slung a knapsack on my shoulders,, bid my wife and 
child ^good bye,^ and started for Virginia with them. By the 
time I reached the Potomac, I had sold my steers at a fair profit, 
and with the proceeds I travelled on to Litchfield, Connecticut, 
(all this distance was traversed on foot), where I paid for my land, 

' and had just one dollar left. I went to work and earned fifty 
cents more, and this was all I had to carry me to my home, six 
[ hundred miles distant. I had a strong incentive, however, in my 
desire to see my wife and child, and I set my face homeward with 
!' a cheerful heart. My money I laid out in hair-combs, and these, 
together with a little Yankee pleasantly, carried me through my 
journey, and in due course of time I reached my cabin; and all 
I my troubles were more than repaid in the embrace of my wife 
and child, and in the consciousness that my farm was paid for. 
Oh! how joyful was that meeting; so much to relate and listen 
I to — so many bright hopes for the future, and castles in the aii I 
Those were, indeed and in truth, halcyon days. 


432 


AMERICAN INSTITUTIONS. 


Time rolled on : children were added to me : the old cabin 
was exchanged for a neat and commodious frame-house ; the 
farm was enlarged and stocked, and everything prospered with 
me; but it required the most incredible exertion, the exercise 
of the closest economy and self-denial. Still, when I revert to 
the old cabin, and the trial of my younger days, I am forced to 
believe that I owe all that I am to a healthful and vigorous life 
in the woods, and the lessons taught by the experience of a 
pioneer of civilization. 


PRE-EMINENCE OF AMERICAN INSTITUTIONS. 

The United States of America constitute an essential portion 
of a great political system, embracing all the civilized nations of 
the earth. At a period when the force of moral opinion is 
rapidly increasing, they have the precedence in the practice and 
defence of the equal rights of man. The sovereignty of the 
people is here a conceded axiom, and the laws, established upon 
that basis, are cherished with faithful patriotism. 

While the nations of Europe aspire after change, our Consti- 
tution engages the fond admiration of the people, by whom it 
has been established. Prosperity follows the execution of even 
justice : invention is quickened by the freedom of competition ; 
and labor rewarded with sure and unexampled returns. Domes- 
tic peace is maintained without the aid of a military establish- 
ment ; public sentiment permits the existence of but few stand- 
ing troops, and those only along the seaboard and on the 
frontiers. 

A gallant navy protects our commerce, which spreads its ban- 
ners on every sea, and extends its enterprise to every clime. 
Our diplomatic relations connect us, on terms of equality and 
honest friendship, with the chief powers of the world; while we 
avoid entangling participation in their intrigues, their passions, 
and their wars. Our national resources are developed by an 
earnest culture of the arts of peace. Every man may enjoy 
the fruits of his industry; every mind is free to publish his 
convictions. 

Our government, by its organization, is necessarily identified 
with the interest of tlie people, and relies exclusively on their 
attachment for its durability and support. Nor is the Constitu- 
tion a dead letter, unalterably fixed ; it has the capacity for im- 


AMERICAN INSTITUTIONS. 433 

provement ; adopting whatever changes time and the public will 
may require ] and safe from decay so long as that will retains its 
energy. 

New States are forming in the wilderness; canals, intersecting 
our plains and crossing our highlands, open numerous channels 
to internal commerce; manufactures prosper along our water- 
courses ; the use of steam on our rivers and railroads annihilates 
distance by the acceleration of speed. Our wealth and popula- 
tions, already giving us a place in the first rank of nations, are 
so rapidly cumulative, that the former is increased fourfold, and 
the latter is doubled in every period of twenty-two or twenty- 
three years. 

There is no national debt; the community is opulent; the 
government economical ; and the public treasury full. Religion, 
neither persecuted nor paid by the State, is sustained by the 
regard for public morals and the convictions of an enlightened 
faith. Intelligence is diffused with unparalleled universality; 
a free press teems with the choicest productions of all nations 
and ages. There are more daily journals in the United States 
than in the world beside. 

A public document of general interest is, within a month, re- 
produced in at least a million of copies, and is brought within 
the reach of every freeman in the country. An immense con- 
course of emigrants of the most various lineage is perpetually 
crowding to our shores; and the principles of liberty, uniting 
all interests by the operation of equal laws, blend the discordant 
elements into harmonious union. 

Other governments are convulsed by the innovations and re- 
forms of neighboring States; our Constitution, fixed in the 
affections of the people, from whose choice it has sprung, neu- 
tralizes the influence of foreign principles, and fearlessly opens 
an asylum to the virtuous, the unfortunate, and the oppressed of 
every nation. 

And yet it is but little more than two centuries since the 
oldest of our States received its first permanent colony. Be- 
fore that time the whole territory was an unproductive waste. 
Throughout its wide extent, the arts had not erected a monu- 
ment. 

Its only inhabitants were a few scattered tribes of feeble bar- 
barians, destitute of commerce and of political connection. The 
axe and the ploughshare were unknown. The soil, which had 
been gathering fertility from the repose of centuries, was lavisli- 
ing its strength in magnificent but usel-ess vegetation. In the 
view of civilization, the immense domain was a solitude. 

37 


434 


THE STAR SPANGLED BANNER. 


THE STAR SPANGLED BANNER. 

The author of the Star Spangled Banner’^ was a very able 
and eloquent lawyer, and one of the most respectable gentlemen 
whose lives have ever adorned American society. During our 
second war with England he was residing in Baltimore, and left 
that city on one occasion for the purpose of procuring the release 
from the British fleet of a friend who had been captured at 
Marlborough. He went as far as the mouth of the Patuxent, 
but was not permitted to return, lest the intended attack on Bal- 
timore should be disclosed by him. Brought up to the mouth 
of the Patapsco, he was placed on board one of the enemy^s 
ships, from which he was compelled to witness the bombardment 
of Fort McHenry, which the admiral had boasted he would carry 
in a few hours, and the city soon after. Mr. Key watched the 
flag over the fort through the whole day, with intense anxiety, 
and in the night, the bombshells ; but he saw at dawn the 
star spangled banner’^ still waving over its defenders, The fol- 
lowing song was partly composed before he was set at liberty. 
He was a man of much literary cultivation and taste, and his 
religious poems are not without merit. He died very suddenly 
at Baltimore, on the 11th of January, 1843. 

0 ! say, can you see, by the dawn^s early light. 

What so proudly we hail’d at the twilight’s last gleaming; 

Wh ose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight, 
O’er the ramparts we watch’d, were so gallantly streaming? 
And the rockets’ red glare, the bombs bursting in air, 

Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there ; 

0 I say, does that star spangled banner yet wave 
O’er the land of the free and the hom^ of the brave ? 

On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep, 

Where the foe’s haughty host in dread silence reposes, 

What is that which the breeze o’er the towering steep 
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses? 

Now it catches the gleam of the morning’s first beam ; 

Its full glory reflected now shines on the stream : 

’T is the star spangled banner, 0! long may it wave 
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave. 

And where is the band who so vauntingly swore, 

’Mid the havoc of war and the battle’s confusion, 

A home and a country they’d leave us no more? 

Their blood hath wash’d out their foul footsteps’ pollution ; 


FRENCH SETTLERS IN THE WEST. 435 

No refuge could save the hireling and slave 
From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave, 

And the star spangled banner in triumph doth wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave. 

0 ! Thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand 

Between our loved home and the wear's desolation ; 

Bless'd with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued land 
Praise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation I 
Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just, 

And this be our motto, “In God is our trust," 

And the star spangled banner in triumph shall wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave. 


CHARACTER OF FRENCH SETTLERS IN THE WEST. 

They made no attempt to acquire land from the Indians, to 
organize a social system, to introduce municipal regulations, or 
to establish military defences; but cheerfully obeyed the priests 
and the king’s officers, and enjoyed the present without troubling 
their heads about the future. They seem to have been even 
careless as to the acquisition of property, and its transmission to 
their heirs. Finding themselves in a fruitful country, abound- 
ing in game, where the necessaries of life could be procured with 
little labor, where no restraints were imposed by government, 
and neither tribute nor personal service was exacted, they were 
content to live in unambitious peace, and comfortiible poverty. 

They took possession of so much of the vacant land around 
them, as they were disposed to till, and no more. Their agri- 
culture was rude; and even to this day, some of the implements 
of husbandry, and modes of cultivation, brought from France a 
century ago, remain unchanged by the march of 7niml, or the 
hand of innovation. Their houses were comfortable, and they 
reared fruits and flowers ; evincing, in this respect, an attention 
to comfort and luxury, which has not been practised among the 
English or American first settlers; but, in the accumulation of 
property, and in all the essentials of industry, they were indolent 
and improvident, rearing only the bare necessaries of life, and 
living from generation to generation without change or improve- 
ment. 

The only new articles which the French adopted, in conse- 
quence of their change of residence, were those connected with 


436 


FRENCH SETTLERS IN THE WEST. 


the fur trade. The few who were engaged in merchandise, 
turned their attention almost exclusively to the traffic with the 
Indians, while a large number became hunters and boatmen. 
The voyageurnj pngag^es^ and couriers des hois, as they are called, 
form a peculiar race of men. They were active, sprightly, and 
remarkably expert in their vocation. With all the vivacity of 
the French character, they have little of the intemperance and 
brutal coarseness usually found among the boatmen and mari- 
ners. They are patient under fatigue, and endure an astonish- 
ing degree of toil and exposure to weather. 

Accustomed to live in the open air, they pass through every 
extreme, and all the sudden vicissitudes of climate, with little 
apparent inconvenience. Their boats are managed with expert- 
ness, and even grace, and their toil enlivened by the song. As 
hunters, they have roved over the whole of the wide plain of the 
west to the Kocky Mountains, sharing the hospitality of the In- 
dians, abiding for long periods, and even permanently, with the 
tribes, and sometimes seeking their alliance by marriage. As 
boatmen, they navigate the birch canoe to the sources of the 
longest rivers, and pass from one river to another, by laboriously 
carrying the packages of merchandise, and the boat itself, across 
mountains, or through swamps or woods, so that no obstacle 
stops their progress. Like the Indian, they can live on game, 
without condiment or bread ; like him, they sleep in the open 
air, or plunge into the water at any season, without injury. 

The French had also a fort on the Ohio, about thirty-six miles 
above the junction of that river with the Mississippi, of which 
the Indians obtained possession by a singular stratagem. A 
number of them appeared in the day-time on the opposite side 
of the river, each covered with a bear-skin, walking on all-fours, 
and imitating the motions of that animal. The French supposed 
them to be bears, and a party crossed the river in pursuit of 
them. The remainder of the troops left their quarters and re- 
sorted to the bank of the river, in front of the garrison, to ob- 
serve the sport. In the m.eantime, a large body of Indian war- 
riors, who were concealed in the woods near by, came silently 
up behind the fort, entered it without opposition, and very few 
of the French escaped the carnage. They afterwards built an- 
other fort on the same ground, which they called Massacre^ in 
memory of this disastrous event, and which retained the name 
of Fort MassaCj after it passed into the hands of the American 
government. 


SPEECH OF HENRY CLAY. 


437 


EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH OF HENRY CLAY. 

I HAVE been accused of ambition in presenting this measure 
— inordinate ambition! If I had thought of myself only, I 
should have never brought it forward. I know well the perils 
to which I expose myself ; the risk of alienating faithful and 
valued friends, with but little prospect of making new ones, if 
any new’ ones could compensate for the loss of those we have 
long tried and loved ; and the honest misconception both of 
friends and foes. Ambition 1 If I had listened to its soft and 
seducing whispers ; if I had yielded myself to the dictates of a 
cold, calculating, and prudential policy, I would have stood still. 
I might have silently gazed on the raging storm, enjoyed its 
loudest thunders, and left those who are charged with the care 
of the vessel of State, to conduct it as they could. 

I have been heretofore often unjustly accused of ambition. 
Low, grovelling souls, who are utterly incapable of elevating 
themselves to the higher and nobler duties of pure patriotism — 
beings,’ who, for ever keeping their own selfish aims in view, de- 
cide all public measures by their presumed influence on their 
aggrandizement — judge me by the venal rule wdiich they pre- 
scribe to themselves. I have given to the winds those false 
accusations, as I consign that wdiich now’ impeaches my motives. 
I have no desire for office, not even for the highest. The most 
exalted is but a prison, in which the incumbent daily receives 
his cold, heartless visitants, marks his weary hours, and is cut 
off from the practical enjoyment of all the blessings of genuine 
freedom. I am no candidate for any office in the gift of the 
people of these States, united or separated — I never wish, never 
expect to be. 

Pass this bill, tranquillize the country, restore confidence and 
affection in the Union, and I am willing to go home to Ashland, 
and renounce public service forever. I should there find, in its 
^groves, under its shades, on its lawms, amid my flocks and herds, 
in the bosom of my family, sincerity and truth, attachment and 
fidelity, and gratitude, which I have not always found in the 
w^alks of public life. Yes, I have ambition ; but it is the ambi- 
tion of being the humble instrument, in the hands of Providence, 
to reconcile a divided people ; once more to revive concord and 
harmony in a distracted land — the pleasing ambition of con- 
templating the glorious spectacle of a free, united, prosperous, 
and fraternal people ! 

37* 


438 


STORIES OP THE WOLVES. 


STORIES OF THE WOLVES. 

Wolves are very numerous in every part of the western 
country. There are two kinds, the common or black wolf, and 
the prairie wolf. The former is a large fierce animafi and very 
destructive to sheep, pigs, calves, poultry, and even young colts. 
They hunt in large packs ; and, after using every stratagem to 
circumvent their prey, attack it with remarkable ferocity. Like 
the Indian, they always endeavor to surprise their victim, and 
strike the mortal blow without exposing themselves to danger. 
They seldom attack man, except when asleep or wounded. 

The largest animals, when wounded, entangled, or otherwise 
disabled, become their prey; but, in general, they only attack 
such as are incapable of resistance. They have been known to 
lie in wait upon the bank of a stream which the buffaloes were 
in the habit of crossing, and when one of those unwieldy animals 
was so unfortunate as to sink in the mire, spring suddenly upoh 
it, and worry it to death while thus disabled from resistance. 
Their most common prey is the deer, which they hunt regularly ; 
but all defenceless animals are alike acceptable to their ravenous 
appetites. When tempted by hunger, they approach the farm- 
houses in the night, and snatch their prey from un(^r the very 
eye of the farmer ; and when the latter is absent with his dogs, 
the wolf is sometimes seen lurking about in mid-day, as if aware 
of the unprotected state of the family. 

Of the few instances of their attacking human beings of which 
we have heard, the following may serve to give some idea of 
their habits. In very early times, a negro-man was passing, in 
the night, in the lower part of Kentucky, from one settlement 
to another. The distance was several miles, and the country 
over which he travelled entirely unsettled. In the morning his 
carcass was found entirely stripped of flesh. Near it lay his axe, 
covered with blood, and all around the bushes were beaten down, 
the ground trodden, and the number of foot-marks so great, as 
to show that the unfortunate victim had fought long and man- 
fully. On pursuing his track, it appeared that the wolves had 
pursued him for a considerable distance ; he had often turned 
upon them and driven them back. Several times they had at- 
tacked him, and been repelled, as appeared by the blood and 
tracks. He had killed some of them before the final onset, and 
in the last conflict had destroyed several. His axe was his only 
weapon. 

On another occasion, many years ago, a negro-man was going 


STORIES OF THE WOLVES. 


439 


through the woods, with no companion but his fiddle, when he 
discovered that a pack of wolves were on his track. They pur- 
sued very cautiously, but a few of them would sometinjes dash 
up and growl, as if impatient for their prey, and then fall back 
again. As he had several miles to go, he became much alarmed. 
He sometimes stopped, shouted, drove back his pursuers, and 
then proceeded. The animals became more and more audacious, 
and would probably have attacked him, had he not arrived at a 
deserted cabin by the way-side. Into this he rushed for shelter, 
and without stopping to shut the door, climbed up and seated 
himself on the rafters. The wolves dashed in after him, and 
becoming quite furious, howled and leaped, and endeavored, with 
every expression of rage, to get to him. 

The moon was now shining brightly, and Cuff being able to 
see his enemies, and satisfied of his own safety, began to act on 
the offensive. Finding the cabin full of them, he crawled down 
to the top of the door, which he shut and fastened ; then remov- 
ing some of the loose boards from the roof, scattered them with 
a tremendous clatter upon such of his foes as remained outside, 
who scampered off, while those in the house began to crouch 
with fear. He had now a large number of prisoners to stand 
guard over until morning ; and drawing forth his fiddle, he very 
good-naturedly played for them all night, very much, as he sup- 
posed, to their edification and amusement ; for, like all genuine 
lovers of music, he imagined that it had power to soften the 
heart even of a wolf. On the ensuing day, some of the neigli- 
bors assembled and destroyed the captives, with great rejoicings. 

The other circumstance to which we allude occurred in Mon- 
roe county, Illinois. There are in many parts of this country 
singular depressions or basins, which the inhabitants call sink- 
holes. They are sometimes very deep, circular at the top, with 
steep sides meeting in a point at the bottom, precisely in the 
shape of a funnel. At the bottom of one ot tliesc, a party «)t 
hunters discovered the den of a she-wolt, and ascertained that it 
contained a litter of whelps. For the purpose of destroying the 
latter they assembled at the place. On examining the entrance 
of the den, it was found to be perpendicular, and so narrow as 
to render it impossible, or very difficult for a man to enter \ and, 
as a notion prevails among the hunters that the temale wolt only 
visits her young at night, it was proposed to send in a boy to 
destroy the whelps. 

A fine courageous boy, armed with a knife, was accoidingl^ 
thrust into the cavern, where, to his surprise, he found himself 
in the company of the she-wolf, whose glistening ej e-balls white 


440 


THE FRENCH HUNTER AND BEAR 


teeth, and surly voice, sufficiently announced her presence. 
The boy retreated towards the entrance, and called to his friends 
to inform them that the old wolf was there. The men told him 
that he was mistaken, that the old wolf never staid with her 
young in daylight, and advised him to go boldly up to the bed 
and destroy the litter. The boy, thinking that the darkness of 
the cave might have deceived him, returned, advanced boldly, 
and laid his hand upon the she-wolf, who sprang upon him and 
bit him very severely, before he could effect his retreat, and 
would probably have killed him had he not defended himself 
with resolution. One or two of the men now succeeded in 
effecting an entrance; the wolf was shot, and her offspring 
destroyed. 


m 


THE FEENCH HUNTER AND BEAR. 

• 

Many years ago, a Frenchman, with his son, was hunting in 
a part of Missouri, distant about forty miles from St. Louis. 
Having wounded a large bear, the animal took refuge in a cave, 
the aperture leading into which was so small as barely to admit 
its passage. The hunter, leaving his son without, instantly pre- 
pared to follow, and with difficulty drew his body through the 
narrow entrance. Having reached the interior of the cave, he 
discharged his piece with so true an aim as to inflict a mortal 
wound upon the bear. The latter rushed forward, and passing 
the man, attempted to escape from the cave; but, on reaching 
the narrowest part of the passage, the strength of the animal 
failed, and it expired. 

The entrandb to the cave was now completely closed with the 
carcass of the animal. The boy on the outside heard his father 
scream for assistance, and attempted to drag out the bear, but 
found his strength insufficient. After many unavailing efforts, 
he became much terrified, and mounted his father’s horse with 
the determination of seeking assistance. There was no road 
through the wilderness, but the sagacious horse, taking the 
direction to St. Louis, carried the alarmed youth to that place, 
where a party was soon raised and dispatched to the relief of the 
hunter. 

But they searched in vain for the place of his captivity. 
From some cause not now recollected, the trace of the horse was 
obliterated, and the boy, in his agitation, had so far forgotten 


ADVENTURE OP LEWIS WETZEL. 


441 


the land-marks as to be totally unable to lead them to the spot. 
They returned after a weary and unsuccessful search ; the hun- 
ter was heard of no more, and no doubt remained of his having 
perished miserably in the cave. 

Some years afterwards, the aperture of the cavern was dis- 
covered in a spot so hidden and so difficult of access as to have 
escaped the notice of those who had passed near it. Near the 
mouth was found the skeleton of the bear, and within the cave 
that of the Frenchman, with his gun and equipments, all appa- 
rently in the same condition as when he died. That he should 
have perished of hunger, from mere inability to effect his escape 
by removing the body of the bear, seems improbable ; because, 
supposing him to have been unable by main strength to effect 
this object, it would have cost him but little labor to have cut 
up and removed the animal by piecemeal. It is most likely 
either that he was suffocated, or that he had received some in- 
jury which disabled him from exertion. The cave bears a name 
which commemorates the event. 


ADVENTURE OF LEWIS WETZEL. 

Amongst the heroes of American border warfare, Lewis Wet- 
zel held no inferior station. Inured to hardships while yet in 
boyhood, and familiar with all the varieties of forest adventure, 
from that of hunting the beaver and the bear to that of the wily 
Indian, he became one of the most celebrated marksmen of the 
day. His form was erect, and of that height best adapted to 
activity, being very muscular, and possessed of great bodily 
strength. From constant exercise, he could, without fatigue, 
bear prolonged and violent exertion, especially that of running 
and walking; and he had, by practice, acquired the art of load- 
ing his rifle when running at full speed through the forest ; and 
wheeling on the instant, he could discharge it with unerring 
aim, at the distance of eighty or one hundred yards, into a mark 
not larger than a dollar. This art he has been known more than 
once to practise with fatal success on his savage foes. ^ 

A marksman of superior skill was, in those days, estimated by 
the other borderers much in the same way that a knight tem- 
plar, or a knight of the cross, who excelled in the tournament or 
charge, was valued by his contemporaries in the days of chivalry. 


442 


ADVENTURE OE LEWIS WETZEL. 

Challenges of skill often took place ; and marksmen, who lived 
at the distance of fifty miles or more from each otlier, frequently 
met by appointment to try the accuracy of their aim, on bets of 
considerable amount. Wetzel’s fame had spread far and wide 
as the most expert and unerring shot of the day. 

It chanced that a young man, a few years younger than Wet- 
zel, who lived on Dankard’s Creek, a tributary of the Mononga- 
hela river, which waters one of the earliest settlements in that 
region, heard of his fame ; and as he also was an expert woods- 
man and a first-rate shot — the best in his settlement — he be- 
came very desirous of an opportunity for a trial of skill. So 
great was his desire to test his comparative skill, that he one day 
shouldered his rifle, and whistling his faithful dog to his side, 
started for the neighborhood of Wetzel, who at that time lived 
on Wheeling Creek, distant about twenty miles from the settle- 
ment of Dankard’s Creek. 

When about half-way on his journey, a fine buck sprang up 
just before him. He levelled his gun with his usual precision, 
but the deer, though badly wounded, did not fall dead on his 
tracks. His faithful dog soon seized him and brought him to 
the ground; but while in the act of doing this, another dog 
sprang from the forest upon the same deer, and his master mak- 
ing his appearance at the same time from behind a tree, with a 
loud voice claimed the buck as his property, because he had 
been wounded by his shot, and seized by his dog. 

It so happened that they had both fired at once at this deer, a 
fact which may very well happen where two active men are 
hunting on the same ground, although one may fire at the dis- 
tance of fifty yards, and the other at one hundred. The dogs 
felt the same spirit of rivalry with their masters, and quitting 
the deer, which was already dead, fell to worrying and tearing 
each other. In separating the dogs, the stranger hunter hap- 
pened to strike that of the young man. The old adage, strike 
my dog, strike myself,^^ arose in full force, and without further 
ceremony, except a few angry words, he fell upon the hunter 
and hurled him to the ground. This was no sooner done than 
he found himself turned, and under his stronger and more pow- 
erful antagonist. 

Discovering that he was no match at this play, the young man 
appealed to the trial by rifles, saying it was too much like dogs 
for men and hunters to fight in this way. The stranger as- 
sented to the trial; but told his antagonist that before he put it 
fairly to the test, he had better witness what he was able to do 
with the rifle, saying that he was as much superior, he thought, 


443 


ADVENTURE OF LEWIS WETZEL. 

with that weapon as he was in bodily strength. He bade him 
place a mark the size of a shilling on the side of a huge poplar 
that stood beside them, from which he would start with his rifle 
unloaded, and running a hundred yards at full speed, he would 
load it as he ran, and wheeling, would discharge it instantly to 
the centre of the mark. 

The feat was no sooner proposed than performed ; the ball 
entered the centre of the diminutive target; astonished at his 
activity and skill, his antagonist instantly inquired the stranger’s 
name. Lewis Wetzel, at your service,’^ answered the marks- 
man. The young hunter seized him by the hand with all the 
ardor of youthful admiration, and at once acknowledged his own 
inferiority. 

So charmed was he with Wetzel’s frankness, skill, and fine 
personal appearance, that he insisted upon his returning with 
him to the settlement on Dankard’s Creek, that he might exhibit 
his talents to his own family, and to the hardy backwoodsmen, 
his neighbors. Nothing loath to such an exhibition, and pleased 
with the energy of his new acquaintance, Wetzel consented to 
accompany him ; shortening the way with their mutual tales of 
hunting excursions and hazardous contests with the common 
enemies of the country. 

Amongst other things, Wetzel stated his manner of distin- 
guishing the footsteps of a white man from those of an Indian, 
although covered with moccasins, and intermixed with the tracks 
of savages. He had acquired this tact from closely examining 
the manner of placing the feet, the Indian stepping with his feet 
in parallel lines, and first bringing the toe to the ground ; while 
the white man almost invariably places his feet at an angle with 
the line of march. An opportunity they little expected soon 
gave room to put his skill to the trial. 

On reaching the young man’s home, which they did that day, 
they found the dwelling a smoking ruin, and all the family lying 
murdered and scalped, except a young woman who had been 
brought up in the family, and to whom the young man was 
ardently attached. She had been taken away alive, as was as- 
certained by examining the trail of the savages. Wetzel soon 
discovered that the party consisted of three Indians and a rene- 
gado white man, a fact not uncommon in those early days, when, 
for crime or the love of revenge, the white outlaw fled to the 
savages, and was adopted, on trial, into their tribe. 

As it was past the middle of the day, and the nearest assist- 
ance, still considerably distant, and there were only four to con- 
tend with, they decided on instant pursuit. As the deed iiad 


414 


ADVENTURE OF LEWIS WETZEL. 


very recently been done, they hoped to overtake them in their 
camp that night, and perhaps before they could cross the Ohio 
river, to which the Indians always retreated after a successful 
incursion, considering themselves in a manner safe when they 
had crossed to its right hank, at that time occupied wholly by 
the Indian tribes. 

Ardent and unwearied was the pursuit by the youthful hunts- 
men : the one, excited to recover his lost mistress, the other to 
assist his new friend, and to take revenge for the slaughter of 
his countrymen — slaughter and revenge being the daily busi- 
ness of the borderers at this period. Wetzel followed the trail 
with the unerring sagacity of a bloodhound ; and just at dusk, 
traced the fugitives to a noted war-path, nearly opposite to the 
mouth of Captina Creek, emptying into the Ohio, which, much 
to their disappointment, they found the Indians had crossed by 
fornring a raft of logs and brush, their usual manner when at a 
distance from their villages. 

By examining carefully the appearances on the opposite shore, 
they soon discovered the fire of the Indian camp in a hollow 
way, a few rods from the river. Lest the noise of constructing 
a raft should alarm the Indians and give notice of the pursuit, 
the two hardy adventurers determined to swim the stream a few 
rods below. This they easily accomplished, being both of them 
excellent swimmers ; fastening their clothes and ammunition in 
a bundle on the tops of their heads, with their rifles resting on 
their left hip, they reached the opposite shore in safety. After 
carefully examining their arms, and putting every article of at- 
tack and defence in its proper place, they crawled very cau- 
tiously to a position which gave them a fair view of their ene- 
mies, who, thinking themselves safe from pursuit, were carelessly 
reposing around their fire, thoughtless of the fate that awaited 
them. 

They instantly discovered the young woman, apparently un- 
hurt, but making much moaning and lamentation, while the 
white man was trying to pacify and console her with the promise 
of kind usage and an adoption into the tribe. The young man, 
hardly able to restrain his rage, was for firing and rushing in- 
stantly upon them. Wetzel, more cautious, told him to wait 
until daylight appeared, when they could make the attack with 
a better chance of success, and of also killing the whole party ; 
but if they had attacked in the dark, a part of them would cer- 
tainly escape. 

As soon as dayliglit dawned the Indians arose and prepared 
to depart. The young man selecting the white renegado, and 


SCENES IN THE PRAIRIE. 


445 


Wetzel an Indian, tliey both fired at the same moment, each kill- 
ing his man. The young man rushed forward, knife in hand, to 
relieve the maiden; while Wetzel reloaded his gun, and pushed 
in pursuit of the two surviving Indians, who had taken to the 
woods until they could ascertain the number of their enemies. 

Wetzel, as soon as he saw that he was discovered, discharged 
his rifle at random, in order to draw them from their covert. 
Hearing the report, and finding themselves unhurt, the Indians 
rushed upon him before he could again reload. This was as he . 
wished; taking to his heels, Wetzel loaded as he ran, and, sud- 
denly wheeling about, discharged his rifle through the body of 
his nearest but unsuspecting enemy. The remaining Indian, 
seeing the fate of his companion, and that his enemy’s rifle was 
unloaded, rushed forward with all energy, the prospect of prompt 
revenge being fairly before him. 

Wetzel led him on, dodging from tree to tree, until his rifle 
was again ready, when, suddenly turning, he shot his remaining 
enemy, who fell dead at his feet. Wetzel and his friend, with 
their rescued captive, returned in safety to the settlement. Like 
honest Joshua Fleeheart, after the peace of 1795, Wetzel pushed 
for the frontiers on the Mississippi, where he could trap the 
beaver, hunt the buffalo and the deer, and occasionally shoot an 
Indian, the object of his mortal hatred. He finally died, as he 
had always lived, a free man of the forest. 


SCENES IN THE PRAIllIE. 

A BUFFALO HUNT. 

After proceeding for about two hours in a southerly direc- 
tion, we emerged towards mid-day from the dreary belt of the 
Cross Timber, and, to our infinite delight, beheld the Great 
Prairie’^ stretching to the right and left before us. We could 
distinctly trace the meandering course of the main Canadian, 
and several smaller streams, by the green forest that bordered 
them. The landscape was vast and beautiful. There is always 
an expansion of feeling in looking upon these boundless and 
fertile wastes ; but I was doubly conscious of it after emerging 
from our close dungeon of innumerous boughs.’^ 

prom a rising ground, Beattie pointed out to us the place 

38 




446 


SCENES IN THE PRAIRIE. 


where he and his comrades had killed the buffalos ; and we be- 
held several black objects moving in the distance, which he said 
were part of the herd. The captain determined to shape his 
course to a woody bottom about a mile distant, and to encamp 
there for a day or two, by way of having a regular buffalo hunt, 
and getting a supply of provisions. As the troops filed along 
the slope of the hill towards the camping-ground, Beattie pro- 
posed to my messmates and myself that we should put ourselves 
under his guidance, promising to take us where we should have 
plenty of sport. 

Leaving the line of march, therefore, we diverged towards the 
prairies, traversing a small valley, and ascending a gentle swell 
of land. As we reached the summit we beheld a gang of wild 
horses about a mile off. Beattie was immediately on the alert, 
and no longer thought of buffalo-hunting. He was mounted on 
his powerful wild horse, with a lariat coiled at the saddle-bow, 
and set off in pursuit, while we remained on a rising ground 
watching the manoeuvres with great solicitude. Taking advan- 
tage of a strip of woodland, he stole quietly along, so as to get 
close to them before he was perceived. The moment they caught 
sight of him, a grand scamper took place. AVe watched him 
skirting along the horizon, like a privateer in full chase of a 
merchantman : at length he passed over the brow of a ridge, 
and down into a short valley ; in a few moments he was on the 
opposite hill, and close upon one of the horses. He was soon 
head and head, and appeared trying to noose his prey; but they 
both disappeared again below the hill, and we saw no more of 
them. It turned out afterwards, that he had noosed a powerful 
horse, but could not hold him, and had lost his lariat in the 
attempt. 

Whilst we were waiting for his return, we perceived two buf- 
falo bulls descending a slope towards a stream, which wound 
through a ravine fringed with trees. The young Count and 
myself endeavored to get near them, under covert of the trees. 
They discovered us while we were yet 300 or 400 yards off, and 
turning about, retreated up the rising ground. AVe urged our 
horses across the ravine, and gave chase. The immense weight 
of head and shoulders causes the buffalo to labor heavily up hill, 
but it accelerates his descent. AVe had the advantage, therefore, 
and gained rapidly upon the fugitives, though it was difficult to 
get our horses to approach them, their very scent inspiring them 
with terror. 

The Count, who had a double-barrelled gun, -with ball, fired, 
but missed. The bulls now altered their course, and galloped 




447 


SCENES IN THE PRAIRIE. 

down hill with headlong rapidity. As they ran in different 
directions, we each singled out one, and separated. I was pro- 
vided with a brace of veteran brass-barrelled pistols, which I 
had borrowed at Fort Gibson, and which had evidently seen 
some service. Pistols are very effective in buffalo hunting, as 
i, the hunter can ride up close to the animal and fire at it while 
! at full speed, whereas the long heavy rifles used on the frontier 
cannot be easily managed, nor discharged with accurate aim 
from horseback. My object, therefore, was to get within pistol- 
■' shot of the buffalo. 

This was no easy matter. I was mounted on a horse of excel- 
lent speed and bottom, that seemed eager for the chase, and 
\ soon overtook the game, but the moment he came nearly parallel 
i he would keep sheering off, with ears forked and pricked forward, 

‘ and every symptom of aversion and alarm. It was no wonder. 

, Of all animals, a buffalo, when close pressed by the hunter, has 
an aspect the most diabolical. II is two short black horns curve 
? out of a huge frontlet of shaggy hair ; his eyes glow like coals ; 
i his mouth is open, his tongue parched and drawn up into a half- 
crescent; his tail is erect, and the tufted end whisking about in 
j the air ; he is a perfect picture of mingled rage and terror. 

It was with difficulty I urged my horse sufficiently near, when, 
taking aim, to my chagrin both pistols missed fire. Unfortu- 
nately, the locks of these veteran weapons were so much worn, 
that in the gallop the priming had been shaken out of the pans. 

. At the snapping of the last pistol I was close upon the buffalo, 

' when, in his despair, he turned round with a sudden snort and 
[ rushed upon me. My horse wheeled about, as if on a pivot, 

; made a convulsive spring, and, as I had been leaning on one 
side with pistol extended, I came near being thrown at the feet 
of the buffalo. Three bounds of the horse carried us out of 
reach of the enemy, who, having merely turned in desperate 
self-defence, quickly resumed his flight. 

As soon as I could gather in my panic-stricken horse, and 
prime my pistols afresh, I again spurred in pursuit of the buffalo, 
i who had slackened his speed to take breath. On my approach, 
he again set off at full speed, still heaving himself forward with 
a heavy rolling gallop, dashing with headlong precipitation 
through breaks and ravines ; while several deer and wolves, 
l startled from their coverts by his thundering career, ran helter- 
' skelter to right and left across the waste. 

A gallop across the prairies in pursuit of game is by no means 
so smooth a career as those may imagine who have only the idea 
of an open level plain. It is true tlie prairies of the hunting- 


448 


SCENES IN THE PRAIRIE. 


grounds are not so much entangled with flowering plants and 
long herbage as the lower prairies, and are principally covered 
with short bufialo- grass ; but they are diversified by hill and 
dale, and, where most level, are apt to be cut up by deep rifts 
and ravines, made by torrents after rains, and which, yawning 
from an even surface, are almost like pitfalls in the way of the 
hunter; checking him suddenly when in full career, or subject- 
ing him to the risk of limb and life. 

The plains, too, are beset by burrowing holes of small animals, 
in which the horse is apt to sink to the fetlock, and throw both 
himself and his rider. The late rain had covered some parts of 
the prairie, where the ground was hard, with a thin sheet of 
water, through which the horse had to dash his way. In other 
parts, there were innumerable shallow hollows, eight or ten feet 
in diameter, made by the buffaloes, who wallow in sand and mud 
like swine. These, being filled with water, shone like mirrors, 
so that the horse was continually leaping over them, springing 
on one side. We had reached, too, a rough part of the prairie 
very much cut up : the buffalo, who was running for life, took 
no heed to his course, plunging down break-neck ravines, where 
it was necessary to skirt the borders in search of a safer 
descent. 

At length he came to where a winter stream had torn a deep 
chasm across the whole prairie, laying open jagged rocks, and 
forming a long glen bordered by steep crumbling cliffs of mingled 
stone and clay. Down one of these the buffalo flung himself, 
half tumbling, half leaping, and then scuttled off along the bot- 
tom ; while I, seeing all farther pursuit useless, pulled up, and 
gazed quietly after him from the border of the cleft, until he 
disappeared amidst the windings of the ravine. 

Nothing now remained but to turn my steed and rejoin my 
companions. Here, at first, was some difficulty. The ardor of 
the chase had betrayed me into a long, heedless gallop ; I now 
found myself in the midst of a lonely waste, in which the pros- 
pect was bounded by undulating swells of land, naked and uni- 
form, where, from the deficiency of land-marks and distinct fea- 
tures, an inexperienced man may become bewildered, and lose 
his way as readily as in the wastes of the ocean. The day, too, 
was overcast, so that I could not guide myself by the sun. My 
^only mode was to retrace the track my horse had made in com- 
ing, though this I would, after all, lose sight of, where the 
ground was parched herbage. 


SCENES IN THE PRAIRIE. 


449 


To one unaccustomed to it, there is something inexpressibly 
lonely in the solitude of a prairie j the loneliness of a forest 
seems nothing to it. There the view is shut in by trees, and 
the imagination is left free to picture some livelier scene beyond; 
but here we have an immense extent of landscape without a sign 
of human existence. We have the consciousness of being far 
beyond the bounds of human habitation ; we feel as if moving in 
the midst of a desert world. As my horse lagged slowly back 
over the scenes of our late scamper, and the delirium of the 
chase had passed away, I was peculiarly sensible to these cir- 
cumstances. 

The silence of the waste was now and then broken by the cry 
of a distant flock of pelicans, stalking like spectres about a shal- 
low pool, sometimes by the sinister croaking of a raven in the air, 
white occasionally a scoundrel wolf would scour off from before 
me, and having attained a safe distance, would sit down and 
howl and whine with tones that gave a dreariness to the sur- 
rounding solitude. After pursuing my way for some time, I 
descried a horseman on the edge of a distant hill, and soon re- 
cognised him to be the Count. He had been equally unsuccess- 
ful with myself. We were shortly afterwards rejoined by our 
worthy comrade, the virtuoso, who, with spectacles on his nose, 
had made two or three ineffectual shots from horseback. 

We determined not to seek the camp until we had made one 
more effort. Casting our eyes about the surrounding waste, W'e 
descried a herd of buffaloes about two miles distant, scattered 
apart, and quietly grazing near a small strip of trees and bnshes. 
It required but little stretch of fancy to picture them so many 
cattle grazing on the edge of a common, and that the grove 
might shelter some lonely farm-house. 

We now formed our plan to circumvent the herd, and, by 
getting on the other side of them, to hunt them in the direction 
where we knew our camp to be situated ; otherwise the pursuit 
might take us to such a distance, as to render it impossible to 
find our way back before nightfall. Taking a wide circuit, 
therefore, we moved slowly and cautiously, pausing continually, 
when we saw any of the herd desist from grazing. The wind 
fortunately set from them, otherwise they might have scented us 
and taken the alarm. 

In this way we succeeded in getting round the herd without 
disturbing it. It consisted of about forty head, bulls, cows, and 
calves. Separating to some distance from each other, we now 


* 


450 


SCENES IN THE PRAIRIE. 


approached slowly in a parallel line, hoping, by degrees, to steal 
near without exciting attention. They began, however, to move 
off quietly, stopping at every step or two to gaze ; when sud- 
denly a bull, that, unobserved by us, had been taking his siesta 
under a clump of trees to our left, roused himself from his lair 
and hastened to join his companions. We were still at a con- 
siderable distance, but the game had taken the alarm. We 
quickened our pace ; they broke into a gallop ; and now com- 
menced a full chase. 

As the ground was level, they shouldered along with great 
speed, following each other in a line, two or three bulls bringing 
up the rear; the last of whom, from his enormous size and vene- 
rable frontlet and beard of sunburnt hair, looked like the patri- 
arch of the herd, and as if he might long have reigned the 
monarch of the prairie. 

There is a mixture of the awful and the comic in the look of 
these huge animals, as they move their great bulk forwards, 
with an up-and-down motion of the unwieldy head and shoul- 
ders, their tail cocked up like the queue of Pantaloon in a pan- 
tomime, the end whisking about in a fierce yet whimsical style, 
and their eyes glaring venomously with an expression of fright 
and fury. 

For some time I kept parallel with the line, without being 
able to force my horse within pistol-shot, so much had he been 
alarmed by the assault of the buffalo in the preceding chase. 
At length I succeeded; but was again balked by my pistols 
missing fire. My companions, whose horses were less fleet and 
more wayworn, could not overtake the herd; at length Mr. L., 
who was in the rear of the line, and losing ground, levelled his 
double-barrelled gun, and fired a long, raking shot. It struck a 
buffalo just above the loins, broke his back-bone, and brought 
him to the ground. lie stopped, and alighted to dispatch his 
prey, when, borrowing his gun, which had yet a charge remain- 
ing in it, I put my horse to his speed, again overtook the herd, 
which was thundering along pursued by the Count. With my 
present weapon there was no need of urging my horse to such 
close quarters; galloping along parallel, therefore, I singled out 
a buffalo, and by a fortunate shot brought it down on the spot. 
The ball had struck a vital part : it could not move from the 
})lace where it fell, but lay there struggling in mortal agony, 
wliile the rest of the herd kept on their headlong career across 
the prairie. 


f 


9 


SCENES IN THE PRAIRIE. 


451 


Dismounting, I now fettered my horse to prevent his straying, 
and advanced to contemplate the victim. I am nothing of a 
sportsman ; I had been prompted to this unwonted exploit by 
the magnitude of the game and the excitement of an adventurous 
chase. Now, that the excitement was over, I could not but look 
with commisseration upon the poor animal that lay struggling 
and bleeding at my feet. Ilis very size and importance, which 
had before inspired me with eagerness, now increased my com- 
punction. It seemed as if I had inflicted pain in proportion to 
the bulk of my victim, and as if there were a hundred-fold 
greater waste of life than there would have been in the destruc- 
tion of an animal of inferior size. 

To add to these after-qualms of conscience, the poor animal 
lingered in his agony. He had evidently received a mortal 
wound, but death might be long in coming. It would not do to 
leave him here to be torn piecemeal while alive, by the wolves 
that already snuffed his blood, and were skulking and howling 
at a distance, and waiting for my departure, and by the ravens 
that were flapping about and croaking dismally in the air. It 
became now an act of mercy to give him his quietus, gnd put 
him out of his misery. I primed one of the pistols, therefore, 
and advanced close up to the buffalo. To inflict a wound thus 
in cold blood, I found a totally different thing from firing in the 
II heat of the chase. Taking aim, however, just behind the fore- 
shoulder, my pistol for once proved true : the ball must have 
passed through the heart, for the animal gave one Convulsive 
throe, and expired. 

While I stood meditating and moralizing over the wreck I 
had so wantonly produced, with my horse grazing near me, I 
was rejoined by my fellow-sportsman, the virtuoso, who, being a 
man of universal adroitness, and withal more experience, and 
hardened in the gentle art of venerie,'" soon managed to carve 
out the tongue of the buffalo, and delivered it to me to bear 
back to the camp as a trophy. 


I 

f 


i, 


452 


NATIONAL PROGRESS. 




NATIONAL PROGRESS. 

A LITTLE more than two centuries ago, the territory now 
occupied by the United States was a vast, solitary, unbroken 
wilderness; inhabited only by roving bands of savages, and 
almost untrodden by the foot of a white man. From the arctic 
regions to the southern gulf, and from ocean shore to ocean 
shore, stretched a mighty expanse, exhibiting every variety of 
surface, soil, and climate, but untended by the hand of man. 

Seed-time and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter,*^ 
pursued their endless cycles; but the gay spring-flowers wasted 
their fragrance on the desert air,'^ and the fruits of autumn 
perished where they grew. Mighty rivers rolled in solemn 
majesty to the ocean, yet bore no burden save the accumulated 
waters of ten thousand streams and fountains, gathered from the 
face of a continent. 

Here, the dense and almost interminable forest cast its sombre 
shadow upon the earth ; and its stalwart oaks and lofty pines, 
whose lives had chronicled the ages of modern history, towered 
to the sky, or stretched their giant arms abroad, and as the 
passing breeze or rushing tempest hurried by, became great 
wind -harps in nature’s anthem of praise to God. There, 
stretched the boundless plain, clothed in perennial verdure, and 
decked with myriads of flowers. 

The great inland seas of the north, whose waters had never 
been furrowed by a keel, slept in silent beauty, with the stars 
upon their breast, or dashed their angry billows on the sounding 
shore; and old Niagara shook the trembling earth, and poured 
. its thunder-tones upon the trembling air, with none to see and 
hear, save some little band of savages upon their war-path, or 
some solitary hunter separated from his companions. 

But this wide-spread scene of desolation was soon to end. In 
the early part of the seventeenth century, solitary barks were 
seen here and there upon the Atlantic, coming from the Old 
World to the New, laden with the elements of settlement and 
civilization. At Jamestown, Manhattan, Plymouth, and other 
spots along the eastern seaboard, these wanderers pitched their 
tents, and commenced the unequal task of subduing the wilder- 
ness. Long and toilsome was the struggle, and countless were 
the perils and hardships to be endured, before these savage wilds 
could become the great American Republic. 

For nearly two centuries the struggle continued. Step by 
step the hardy pioneers pushed their way westward into the 


453 


' NATIONAL PROGRESS. 

»! heart of the continent. Following up the devious course of the 
rivers, choosing some favored locality, turning the forest to 
farms, and in their humble cabins planting fresh beacon-lights 
> of liberty and civilization. Onward they pressed, scaling the 
{ heights of the Alleghanies, and descending into the great valley 
) of the Mississippi, where a more genial climate and fertile soil 
i invited the wanderer to fresh joys and toils. Advancing still 
) onward, we see them spreading over the vast prairies of the 
West, crossing the Rocky Mountains, and planting their triumph- 
ant standard on the shores of the Pacific Ocean. 

Great was the work of colonizing the western continent by 
the Anglo-Saxon race; but our fathers were equal to the task. 
They were men of lion hearts and iron nerv^es ; men who were 
willing to do, and endure, and dare, and die in the cause of 
popular freedom. Unused to the seductions of pleasure, or the 
allurements of luxurious ease, they passed their lives in hardy 
toil, or noble daring, to accomplish the great enterprise they had 
undertaken. Sometimes they fought, and watched, and prayed, 
to defend their hearth-stones from the invasion of the ruthless 
savage ; and then they contended for long years with the armed 
hosts of Britain in defence of the princrpUs of human liberty. 
The eighteenth century consummated the great work, and the 
^ dying eyes of the Father of his Country beheld a glorious con- 
federation of free and independent republics, formed by his coun- 
sels, and defended by his arms. 

Since the dawning of the present century, our country has 
exhibited a scene of progress and expansion unexampled in the 
history of the world. During that short period of time, the area 
of freedom has increased from one to three millions of square 
miles ; and the population from a little over three to almost 
thirty millions. Jke old thirteen commonwealths have reversed 
the digits, and now count thirty^one; and nearly half a score of 
large territories are proposing to join the glorious sisterhood of 
independent States. 

“ Empire to empire swift succeeds, 

Each happy, great, and free.” 

Throughout the mighty regions of the West, that were then 
sleeping in primeval solitude, from the banks of the beautiful 
Ohio, to those 

“Continuous woods 

Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound 
Save his own dashings,” 

a thousand beautiful towns and cities have sprung up, filled with 
the noise of clinking hammers, and the busy hum of commerce ; 


454 


1 


NATIONAL PROGRESS. 

whilst through the rural districts, that then sheltered nothing 
hut wild beasts and savage men, landscapes of surpassing beauty 
charm the eye, dotted all over with wheat-fields, meadows, and 
vineyards, and enlivened by the cheerful sound of the wood- 
man’s axe, or the ploughman’s whistle. 

In all the humanizing arts that elevate the intellect, and 
sweeten the enjoyments of life, we have outstripped all other 
nations. From the old hand printing-press of Franklin, with 
its two black balls, that worked hard to make a thousand im- 
pressions in a day, we have power-presses that throw off twenty 
thousand printed sheets in an hour. From the little steamboat 
of Fulton, that made a two days’ trip from New York to Albany, 
in 1807, we have thousands of proud steamers that are now 
ploughing their way through river, lake, and ocean. 

From the first railroad of importance, that was constructed 
between Camden and Amboy, in 1831, there are now more than 
twenty thousand miles of this iron net-work spread all over the 
continent. The iron horse that takes his breakfast of fire and 
water on the shores of the Atlantic, rushes on with mad haste, 
over hill and valley, and wide extended plain, through the 
whirling forest trees, and along the verge of the beetling preci- 
pice, over rushing torrents, and through the bowels of the 
mountains; on, on with tireless energy, to slake his evening 
thirst in the waters of the great lakes. 

And thought or speech can travel fast 

*‘As the swift-winged arrows of light.” 

The congressman, in the capitol at Washington, speaks, and 
listening millions hear his voice. From the delta of the Missis- 
sippi to the Falls of St, Anthony, and along the great lakes and 
eastern seaboard, and through the heart of ^ the republic, the 
electric current runs, and thousands are reading his thoughts 
before he has finished speaking. From mountain-top to moun- 
tain-top flashes the light of intelligence, faster than the kindling 
of beacon-fires, till it reaches every city, hamlet, and homestead 
in this great empire of mind. 

And not alone in merely material power have we made such ex- 
traordinary advancement. The march of mind has been equally 
progressive. We are by no means wanting in the essential 
elements of social, intellectual, and moral advancement. The 
schoolmaster is abroad,” and in every town and neighborhood 
the Peoj)le s Colleges invite the poor, as well as the rich, to take 
long draughts from the overflowing fountain of knowledge ; and 
in every village the church-spire points the way-worn pilgrim 


NATIONAL PROGRESS. 


455 


the rest that remaineth above. In many of the States, 
the common schools are endowed with a princely munificence, 
and every child is offered a thorough education without money 
and without price. Almost every State has its asylum for deaf 
and dumb, blind, and insane ; and every city its hospitals for the 
sick, and its home for the or])hnn. 

Our country possesses, in the vastness and variety of its inte- 
rests, resources, and productions, the elements of a lasting union 
and independence. Each individual is dependent for the supply 
of necessities or luxuries upon every section of the republic. 
His manufactured goods must come from the East and North, 
his wheat and corn from the Middle and West, his rice from 
the Carolinas, his cotton from the South, liis sugar from the 
Southwest, his furs and peltries from the Itocky ^Mountains, and, 
through the golden gate of California, the richer treasures of the 
new El Dorado. Scattered over a vast territory, embracing 
every variety of soil, climate, and production, are nearly thirty 
millions of people ; prosperous and happy at home, honored and 
envied abroad ; each intent upon the acquisition of honorable 
wealth, or decent competence, whilst the sweet charities of life 
are over all. Our agriculture pours forth its annual products, in 
countless millions ; our manufactures rival those of the most 
powerful kingdoms of Europe ; the white wing of our commerce 
hovers on the bosom of every sea and ocean upon the habitable 
globe; and the flag of America, displayed in every port, de- 
mands and receives universal respect. 

And what shall be the destiny of this great nation, thus 
favored in its home, thus honored in its power? Shall we still 
go on to higher grades of excellence, and set before the world a 
perpetual example of the blessing of free institutions ? Or shall 
we fall from our first estate, and be overwhelmed in the vortex 
that swallowed the republics of the Old World ? The present 
generation will probably answer these momentous questions. 

If we cherish and emulate the stern virtues of our fathers ; if 
we return to the simpler habits of life, and check the growing 
spirit of luxury and dissipation ; if we hold with undying love 
and reverence to the Union, as the sheet-anchor of our hope and 
safety; if we cultivate the spirit of fraternity with all, and frown 
upon sectiofial animosity and strife ; above all, if we imbue tlie 
minds of youth Avith the love of country, and the principles of 
Bible virtue, and Bible religion, then, indeed, shall our pros- 
perity be as a river, and our country as the garden of God. 

But, on the contrary, if we forget the price of blood’^^ with 
which our liberties were purchased, and heed not the voice ot 




456 


NATIONAL PROGRESS 


warning and wisdom that comes to ns from the graves of our 
sires ) if we spend our substance in riotous living, and worship 
the god of fashion more than the God of heaven ; if the lust 
and the desire of public plunder shall rule the minds of 
the great, whilst intemperance and infidelity destroy the health, 
and corrupt the morals of the multitude ; if we war with each 
other for opinion's sake, and sever the bonds of our holy frater- 
nity, then shall our destruction be as sudden and terrible, as oui 
exaltation has been great *and glorious. 

Liberty and union have long dwelt together in peace and 
safety. The blow that crushes one will destroy the other, and 
both will sink into a dishonored and bloody grave. Whenever 
patriotism is changed to politics, and discord breeds disunion, 
then shall the stars of our glorious constellation be hurled from 
the firmament of their power, and the sun of American liberty, 
sinking in an ocean of blood, shall sketch, in characters of fire, 
upon the coming darkness, Woe to the nation that forgets my 
law 


THE END. 


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